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Sentimental   Tommy 

BY  J.  M.  BARRIE. 

Author  of  "  The  Little  Minister/9  etc*  etc. 


'•  Tommy  Sandy  and  his  sister  Elspeth  are  describe^ 
with  a  wealth  of  humor,  of  pathos,  and  of  insight  intc 
character  that  is  almost  bewildering.  M 

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THE  ROAD  TO  PARl! 

A  STORY  OF  ADVENTURE 

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Author  of  "A  Gentleman  Player,"  "The  Mystery  of  Murra. 
port,'  "  A  Continental  Dragoon/'  etc.,  etc. 

Illustrated  by  H.  C.  Edwards 

An  historical  romance  of  the  18th  century,  b 

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HE  BEADS  OF  TASMER 


BY 


-       MRS.  AMELIA  E.  BARR 

.  5 

<  OF  "JAH  VEDDER'S  WIFE,"  "A  DAUGHTER  OF  FIFE,"  "THE 
""  'tow  Of  ORAHGE  RIBBON,"  "A  BORDER  SHEPHKRDESS," 


ETC.,  ETC. 


WITH     ILLUSTRATIONS     BY 

WARREN  B.  DAVIS 


NEW  YORK 
THE   AMERICAN   NEWS   COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS'  AGENTS 


COPTTIIGHT,  1890  and  1894, 
S?  BOBERT  BONNER'S  SONS. 

MM  rights  retentd.) 


C 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAeU 

I.  The  Beads  of  Tasmer      ...  7 

II.  Roberta 29 

III.  Cross  Purposes       ....  47 

IV.  Undercurrents 57 

V.  Sara's  Lover            ....  93 

VI.  Sentence  Suspended            .        .  112 

VII.  A  Love  Letter         .        .        .        .125 

VIII.  Father  and  Son            .        .        .  148 

IX.  Father  Matthew  for  the  People      .  166 

X.  The  Minister's  Interference         .  184 

XI.  The  Clearance         ....  207 

XII.  Sara 217 

XIIL  The  Minister  Calls  on  the  Baron     .  237 

XIV.  Sara's  Request    ....  259 

XV.  Tasmer's  Summer           .         .         .  266 

XVI.  In  the  Trough  of  the  Sea     .         .  286 

XVII.  Farewell,  Love      ....  301 

XVIII.  At  The  Last,  Peace           .        .  331 

XIX.  The  Secret  of  the  Beads       .        .  352 

XX.  Bringing  Home  the  Bride.         .  375 

2061653 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE  BEADS  OF  TASMER. 

"  Lovest  thou  Mountains  great, 

Peaks  to  the  clouds  that  soar, 

Corrie  and  fell  where  eagles  dwell, 

And  cataracts  dash  evermore  ? 

"  Lovest  thou  green  grassy  glades, 

By  the  sunshine  sweetly  kist ; 
Murmuring  waves,  and  echoing  caves  ? 
Then  go  to  the  Land  of  Mist." 

On  the  thundering  shores  of  West  Ross 
stands  Tasmer,  the  old  castle  of  the  Torquils. 
Its  foundations  are  laid  upon  that  colossal 
masonry  which  the  primeval  deep  piled  up 


Beads  of  lasme* 


when  it  first  began  the  fashioning  of  the  hills  ; 
and  there  are  hours  of  blinding  mist,  and  daz 
zling  sunshine,  when  its  towers  and  turrets  are 
scarcely  to  be  distinguished  from  the  great  red 
rocks  which  buttress  the  coast  against  the 
stormy  Minch. 

At  the  foot  of  these  rocks,  the  waves  roar  and 
moan  through  the  vast  vaults  of  innumerable 
caverns  ;  surge  out  again  in  foaming  cataracts, 
and  then  roll  through  the  torn  and  splintered 
fissures  with  an  appalling  fury.  But  above  all 
this  ceaseless  battle  of  earth  -and  water,  Tasmer 
Castle  has  stood  securely  for  seven  centuries. 
Originally  it  was  little  else  than  a  square  hall 
defended  by  a  round  tower — the  walls  of  both 
the  hall  and  the  tower  being  twelve  feet  thick — 
but  in  the  sixteenth  century,  Rolfe  Torquil 
allied  himself  to  the  great  family  of  the  Mac 
kenzie,  and  built  what  is  known  as  "  the  Lady's 
Tower,"  for  his  bride. 

Other  additions  were  made  at  intervals ;  and 
when,  at  length,  the  exile  of  the  Stuarts  gave  a 


The  Beads  of  Tasmer. 


promise  of  permanent  peace  to  the  Highlands, 
the  Torquils  began  to  take  a  pride  in  their  old 
home,  and  to  furnish  it  luxuriously,  according 
to  the  Georgian  ideas  of  beauty  and  splendor. 
Even  the  small  rooms  within  the  ancient  walls 
were  made  picturesquely  habitable ;  for  the 
stone  work  was  covered  with  tapestry,  the 
floors  and  ceilings  with  light  woods  ;  and  dyed 
skins,  gay  chintzes,  and  soft  carpets  did  much  to 
beautify  and  soften  the  grim,  bare  strength 
which  had  been  the  original  idea  of  home.  But 
nothing  could  banish  the  strangely  past  look  of 
the  older  portion  of  the  building.  In  the 
brightest  summer  day,  the  twilight  of  Ossian 
lingers  about  it;  and  an  imaginative  person 
would  scarcely  wonder  to  see  some  fierce,  bare- 
armed  Thane  of  Ross  look  from  the  narrow 
windows,  or  walk  out  from  the  iron-studded 
door. 

Behind  the  castle  there  is  a  range  of  moun 
tains,  shouldering  each  other  up  until  their  bald 
heads  are  lost  in  mist  and  clouds.  Half  way 


IO  The  Beads   of  Tasmer. 

down,  the  firs  begin ;  and  as  they  approach 
Tasmer,  the  dense  woods  embrace  it  on  three 
sides.  But  to  the  sea  it  turns  an  open  face,  and 
looks  boldly  over  "  the  fractured  Caledonian 
isles  ;"  and  the  innumerable  lochs  and  bays  and 
sounds  through  which : 

"  By  night  and  day, 
The  great  sea-water  finds  its  way 
Through  long,  long  windings  of  the  hills." 

Among  the  men  of  Ross,  the  Torquils  have 
always  held  a  certain  pre-eminence.  They  have 
usually  had  the  qualities  which  insure  it ;  ready 
tongues,  ready  hands,  and  consciences  not  over- 
tender.  They  handled  a  sword  as  naturally  as  a 
bird  uses  its  wings.  They  knew  their  own 
minds,  and  worked  out  their  own  wills,  often 
ruthlessly,  but  without  weakness  or  indecision. 
Also,  the  Torquils  had  an  immeasurable  admira 
tion  for  the  Torquils  ;  that  portion  of  humanity 
not  connected  with  them,  or  serviceable  to 
them,  had,  at  best,  their  profound  indifference ; 


The  Beads  of    Tasmer.  1 1 

and  so  little  did  they  care  to  conceal  this  social 
contempt  that  the  motto  above  their  door  con 
stantly  asserted  it — 

"  They  say, 
Wat  say  they  ? 
Lat  them  say." 

From  such  ancestors  a  family  is  not  easily 
delivered  ;  and  in  the  beginning  of  the  nine 
teenth  century  the  Torquils  were  still  known  as 
a  race  "  111  to  themselves  and  worse  to  their 
foe."  After  this,  however,  the  progressive 
spirit  of  the  time  reached  even  to  the  lonely 
Ross  shores.  Their  next  baron  was  sent  to  a 
French  seminary;  he  traveled  and  observed, 
and  learned  to  partially  sacrifice  his  personal 
feelings  to  the  rules  of  cultured  society.  He 
was  nearly  fifty  years  old  when  he  inherited 
Tasmer,  and  had  been  in  active  service  in 
various  parts  of  the  world  for  more  than  twenty 
years. 

So  he  was  not  averse  to  sheathe  his  sword. 
The  grim  old  castle,  to  which  he  attached  the 


12  The  Beads  of   Tasmer. 


idea  of  home,  had  a  very  warm  place  in  his 
heart ;  and  he  cherished  a  most  exalted  opinion 
of  the  importance  of  his  own  position  and 
ancestry.  It  was  a  proud  moment  when  his 
general  first  addressed  him  as  Sir  Rolfe  Torquil. 
Hitherto  he  had  been  very  reticent  about  his 
family,  but  now,  as  the  head  of  it,  he  was  quite 
inclined  to  be  garrulous. 

"  It  is  a  very  ancient  barony,"  he  said.  "  The 
Torquils  are  of  the  pure  Albionic  race,  with 
some  slight  admixture  of  Scandinavian  blood. 
My  family  were  Earls  of  Ross  in  the  twelfth 
century." 

This  statement  was  made  at  mess,  where  his 
brother  officers  were  good-naturedly  discussing 
the  new  prospects  of  their  colonel,  and  Captain 
Stafford  replied  : 

•"  You  may  restore  the  title,  Sir  Rolfe ;  a  great 
deal  of  favor  might  be  granted  you  on  jour 
military  career." 

*'  I  am  one  of  those  who  love  an  old  name 
better  than  a  new  one,  Captain.  And  the  Tor- 


The  Beads  of   Tasmer.  13 

quils  have  carved  '  Torquil '  with  their  swords 
and  bayonets  all  over  the  English  history  of  the 
past  century." 

"  We  can  go  a  good  deal  further  back  than 
that,"  lisped  a  young  lieutenant,  with  the  royal 
name  of  Fitz-Roy. 

"  You  ought  to  do  so,  sir.  You  are  Norman- 
English.  I  am  a  Highland  Chief.  We  fought 
for  our  own  side,  and  were  our  own  masters 
until  a  hundred  years  ago." 

"I  beg  pardon,  Sir  Rolfe.  I  did  not  know 
about  the  Torquils." 

The  young  man  spoke  with  an  air  of  apology, 
but  Sir  Rolfe  answered,  with  cool  contempt : 

"  That  may  be  ;  but  we  think  no  less  of  our 
selves  for  your  not  knowing  us." 

This  short  conversation  indicated  the  sudden 
change  of  manner  which  his  accession  to  the 
estate  induced.  He  had  always  been  haughty, 
but  he  had  hitherto  been  reticent ;  and  though 
manner  is  a  great  matter,  no  one  finds  it  easy  to 
complain  of  a  silent  man. 


14  The  Beads  of   Tasmer. 

Privately,  Sir  Rolfe's  musings  were  not 
altogether  of  unmixed  satisfaction.  The  estate 
of  Tasmer,  though  of  great  extent,  was  unpro 
ductive,  and  the  rental  roll  far  below  that  of  the 
poorest  English  barony.  Highland  lords  had 
not  then  begun  to  slaughter  their  game  for 
Covent  Garden,  nor  dreamed  of  renting  out 
their  acres  as  shooting  grounds  for  their  far 
wealthier  southern  neighbors.  Upon  Tasmer's 
hills  were  great  flocks  of  sheep,  with  scrambling 
feet  and  twisted  horns,  and  droves  of  little 
Highland  cattle ;  and  from  these  sources  the 
largest  part  of  Sir  Rolfe's  income  was  derived. 
Here  and  there  in  the  narrow  straths  it  was  pos 
sible  to  raise  cereals,  and  the  wealth  of  the 
ocean  was  at  his  doors,  but  within  the  castle 
walls  there  had  always  been  a  dreary  want  of 
ready  money. 

No  one  but  himself  knew  how  this  want  had 
pinched  him  for  thirty  years  ;  and  he  was  by  no 
means  sure  that  his  pecuniary  perplexities  were 
over.  This  was  the  more  annoying  because  his 


The  Beads  of   Tasmer.  15 

son  and  his  daughter  had  arrived  at  ages  when 
they  could  no  longer  be  supported  at  economical 
schools. 

"  Donald  is  twenty-two  years  old,"  he  mused  ; 
"  he  ought  to  be  in  the  army.  Sara  is  twenty, 
and  is  doubtless  thinking  of  fine  dresses  and 
lovers  and  society." 

It  was  something  strange  for  Sir  Rolfe  to  take 
the  children  into  consideration  at  all.  He  had 
seen  very  little  of  them.  When  their  mother 
died  at  a  lonely  station  in  the  Madras  Presi 
dency,  they  were  sent  to  Scotland  ;  and  they  had 
grown  up  between  the  formal  discipline  of 
schools  and  the  liberty  of  the  long  vacations  at 
Tasmer.  During  these  latter  periods,  they  ruled 
absolutely  the  irritable  old  baron,  their  grand 
father,  and  lived  in  a  perpetual  holiday  in  each 
other's  company.  Only  Donald  had  any  memory 
of  his  mother;  his  sister  had  forgotten  her.  But 
their  father  had  made  three  long  visits  to  his 
native  land,  and  during  them  they  had  been  his 
companions.  Since  the  last  visit,  five  years  had 


1 6  The  Beads  of  Tasmer. 

passed;  they  had  not  forgotten  him,  but  they 
had  become  accustomed  to  life  without  him. 

Still,  youth  always  expects  change  to  bring 
happiness.  They  looked  forward  with  pleasant 
anticipations  to  the  new  life  which  his  coming 
home  would  inaugurate,  and  they  were  dis 
cussing  it  together  one  morning,  as  they  lingered 
over  a  late  breakfast. 

"  There  will  be  a  great  deal  to  do,"  said  Sara, 
"  when  father  arrives.  Donald,  read  his  letter 
again.  I  do  not  believe  I  heard  a  word  of  it.  I 
was  listening  to  something  old  Fergus  was  tell 
ing  me.  What  was  said  about  Tasmer?" 

" '  The  principal  rooms  in  the  castle  must  be 
refurnished  ;  for  your  sake,  and  for  your  sister's 
sake,  we  must  live  more  like  people  of  wealth 
and  position.'  That  is  what  father  says." 

"  And  when  does  he  expect  to  reach  home  ?" 

"  After  this  letter — immediately." 

"  If  it  were  possible  for  you  to  meet  him  on 
the  way,  Donald — " 

"  I  think   he  would  not  like  it,  Sara.     Father 


The  Beads  of  Tasmer.  17 

was  always  annoyed  at  anything  like  '  fuss.' 
There  is  no  certainty  either  about  the  time.  He 
may  be  delayed  in  London,  for  he  is  sure  to  go 
to  the  Army  and  Navy  Club,  and  so  it  is  likely 
he  will  meet  some  old  comrade.  I  will  take  a 
good  horse  to  Balmacarra,  and  leave  it  at  the  inn 
for  him.  I  think  that  is  the  only  attention  it 
will  please  him  to  have." 

Then  they  renewed  a  discussion  which  was  of 
more  personal  interest  to  them. 

"  I  should  think  father  would  like  to  have  *  the 
baron's  rooms.'  The  Torquil  has  always  occu 
pied  them.  What  do  you  think,  Donald  ?" 

"  I  am  sure  he  will  keep  them,  Sara." 

"  Then  there  is  no  reason  why  you  and  I 
should  not  at  once  select  the  apartments  we  like 
best.  I  will  have  a  suite  that  looks  upon  the  fir 
forest.  O,  Donald  !  What  charming  hours  we 
have  had  in  those  woods !  What  myteries  we 
have  met  there !  What  pretty  nests  we  set 
rocking  as  we  parted  the  branches  in  our  way  ' 
And  how  the  blackbirds  used  to  sing,  just  as  if 


1 8  The  Beads  of  Tasmer. 

their  hearts  were  not  large  enough  to  hold  so 
much  happiness !  And  what  blue-bells,  and 
moss,  and  little  daisies !  One  never  forgets  such 
things,  Donald." 

"  No.  Yet  I  always  fancied  the  firs  were  full 
of  sad  stories ;  that  they  knew  all  the  dreadful 
secrets  of  those  days  when  the  Mackenzies  and 
Torquils  were  burning  and  slaying,  and  carrying 
off  miserable  women  and  frightening  children. 
If  I  sleep  at  that  side  of  the  house  I  hear  them 
crying  all  night  long.  I  sleep  with  my  beads  in 
my  hands,  and  wake  up  in  a  fright  to  pray  for 
them.  I  will  have  rooms  that  look  over  the  sea. 
There  is  nothing  secret  about  the  sea.  If  any 
harm  was  coming  the  sea  way,  one  could  see  it 
coming.  What  is  lurking  in  a  wood,  who  can 
tell?" 

"  Oh,  indeed,  Donald,  you  must  not  say  there 
is  nothing  secret  about  the  sea,"  interrupted 
Sara.  "  How  often  it  covers  itself  with  a  thick 
mist.  Then,  how  awful  and  how  melancholy 
are  the  mountains,  and  how  far  away  and  sad 


The  Beads  of   Tasmer.  19 

are  the  long,  low  islands!  The  birds  are  so 
quiet,  and  the  very  surf  is  muffled  on  the  beach. 
Nothing  in  nature  is  so  full  of  secrets  and  oi 
mystery,  as  the  sea." 

"  But  I  love  the  sea,  Sara.  When  I  get  near 
it  I  feel  it  in  every  pulse  of  my  body.  I  would 
rather  watch  the  wind  shimmer  across  it,  than 
look  at  the  finest  picture  man  ever  painted. 
And  as  for  blue-bells  and  daisies,  how  much 
more  I  love  the  sea's  pale,  salt  flowers !  Oh, 
the  sea  !  The  sea !  Glorious  things  can  be  told 
of  the  sea,  Sara." 

"  I  know  that,  Donald.  I  hope  father  will  get 
you  a  boat.  I  could  trust  myself  with  you  and 
Angus  Mackenzie." 

"  I  should  think  you  could.  Now  you  have 
given  me  a  sea-longing,  Sara.  I  must  go  and 
find  Angus." 

"  Donald,  the  riding-horse  must  go  to  Balma- 
carra  first." 

"  I  had  forgotten.  The  horse  is  certainly  the 
first  thing  to  be  attended  to.  Still  I  do  not  think 


2O  The  Beads  of   Tasmer. 

father  will  get  here  to-day.  The  stages,  after 
leaving  Oban  are  not  to  be  depended  upon." 

Indeed,  it  was  nearly  a  week  after  this  con 
versation  before  the  new  master  of  Tasmer 
arrived.  The  feeling  of  expectation  had 
expended  itself,  and  the  young  people  were 
indulging  that  not  unpleasant  sentiment  of  mak 
ing  the  best  of  a  happy  period  which  must 
soon  pass  away  forever.  Then,  one  brilliant 
July  afternoon,  when  the  windows  were  all  open 
to  the  fir-woods  or  the  sea,  when  they  were  eat 
ing  dinner,  and  had  for  the  moment  forgotten 
him,  the  door  quietly  opened,  and  Sir  Rolfe 
Torquil  entered. 

Donald  sat  in  his  grandfather's  seat,  Sara  at 
his  right  hand  ;  they  were  talking  merrily,  quite 
occupied  with  the  present,  forgetful  of  the  past 
and  the  future  alike ;  and  of  all  things,  they  had 
the  least  thought  of  giving  offense — and  yet 
when  Sir  Rolfe  saw  Donald  in  the  master's 
chair,  his  first  feeling — though  it  was  evanescent 
as  a  shadow — was  one  of  anger.  Innocent  as 


The  Beads  of   Tasmer.  21 

the  appropriation  was,  and  in  spite  of  the  joyful 
love  that  welcomed  him,  he  felt  it. 

Yet  he  looked  with  delight  upon  the  chil 
dren  who  called  him  "  father."  Donald  had 
grown  far  beyond  his  hopes.  His  figure  was 
tall  and  erect.  He  had  blue  eyes  full  of  pierc 
ing  light ;  eyes  that  looked  straight  at  every 
thing,  like  the  eyes  of  an  eagle ;  and  that  bright 
auburn  hair  which  had  given  the  prefix  roy,  or 
red,  to  so  many  of  his  ancestors.  It  was  easy 
for  Sir  Rolfe  to  imagine  him  at  the  head  of  a 
troop  of  cavalry  rushing  by,  with  the  light  of 
battle  on  his  face.  And  Sara  Torquil  resembled 
her  brother  in  her  tall,  slender  form,  her  daz 
zling  complexion,  her  bright  hair,  and  frank, 
fearless  manner. 

For  a  little  while,  the  joy  of  their  reunion  was 
almost  perfect ;  but  ever,  sooner  or  later, 
humanity  finds  the  pain  of  reunion  as  great  as 
the  pain  of  parting.  Some  secret  disappoint 
ment  or  fear  enters  into  all  meetings  after  long 
absence.  No  one  has  stood  still ;  it  is  uncertain 


22  The  Beads  of   Tasmer. 

whether  the  changes  will  please  or  displease 
us.  Some  bonds  of  sympathy  are  almost  certain 
to  have  worn  away,  and  it  is  to  a  person,  not 
quite  what  was  expected,  that  we  have  to  learn 
to  adapt  ourselves. 

After  the  night's  rest  and  solitude,  something 
of  this  feeling  was  in  each  heart.  Sir  Rolfe  per 
ceived  that  his  son  had  become  a  man ;  that  his 
daughter  had  crossed  the  line — 

"  Where  the  brook  and  river  meet." 

She  was  no  longer  a  school-girl  to  be  retired 
to  a  governess  or  sent  out  of  the  parlor  if  her 
society  interfered  with  him.  And  to  the  chil 
dren,  their  father  was  not  quite  the  same.  They 
missed  his  uniform  ;  it  had  always  inspired  in 
them  pride  and  respect.  They  missed  also  that 
air  of  careless  relaxation,  which  was  natural  in  a 
soldier  on  furlough,  but  not  desirable  in  the 
master  of  a  home  to  be  arranged  on  a  permanent 
basis.  So  that  Sir  Rolfe  Torquil  was  in  many 
respects  unlike  the  man  whom  they  remembered 
as  Colonel  Torquil. 


The  Beads  of   Tasmer.  23 

His  return  home  and  his  accession  to  the 
estate  had  made  but  a  slight  sensation  among 
his  people.  The  tenantry  of  an  English  baron 
would  have  eaten  and  drunken,  and  shouted 
themselves  hoarse  with  hurrahs  for  their  new 
master.  Sir  Rolfe  expected  nothing  of  the 
kind.  Such  a  welcome  would  have  almost 
offended  him.  Torquil  was  in  the  very  heart  of 
the  old  Catholic  district  of  the  north,  and  in  its 
religious  and  social  aspects  a  flat  contradiction 
to  every  other  part  of  Scotland.  Here  the 
pious,  melancholy  Celt,  cradled  in  mists  and 
bringing  his  daily  life  into  constant  sympathy 
with  the  church,  was  both  by  nature  and  educa 
tion  inclined  to  a  grave  and  serene  seriousness. 

He  lived  in  nearly  constant  danger,  either  on 
the  ocean  or  the  wild,  precipitous  mountains; 
and  he  lived  almost  with  prayer  upon  his  lips. 
Centuries  ago,  the  grand  faith  of  lona,  Tyree 
and  Coll  had  tound  among  these  somber  lochs 
and  dusky  hills  a  fitting  refuge,  and  under  the 
little  black-thatched  cottages  of  Kintail  and  Tor- 


24  The  Beads  of  Tasmer. 

quil  they  had  preserved  the  faith  of  their  fathers. 
And  not  because  they  had  been  hidden  away 
from  the  world  and  its  trials ;  for  to  the  last 
hour  they  stood  by  the  Stuarts,  fully  compre 
hending  that  their  loyalty  included  their 
religion. 

In  social  life  they  remained  quite  apart.  The 
names  which  thrilled  the  Lowland  heart  touched 
them  not.  They  believed  in  King  Fergus;  they 
knew  little  of  Sir  William  Wallace,  and  Robert' 
Burns  never  sang  for  them.  Duncan  Ban  Mac- 
Intyre  and  the  seraphic  psalms  of  their  own 
saints  touched  them  far  more  nearly.  They 
were,  however,  neither  rude  nor  ignorant,  tor 
one  or  two  religious  sanctuaries  had  always 
lifted  their  stately  domes  among  these  humble 
clachans,  and  pious  priests  and  white-robed 
sisters  had  been  their  teachers  and  friends  for 
unnumbered  generations. 

So  Sir  Rolfe  expected  only  the  mannerly,  kind 
greeting  which  was  gladly  given  him.  The  men 
came  to  their  doors,  as  they  passed,  and  lifted 


The  Beads  of  Tasmer.  25 

their  bonnets  with  a  pious  ejaculation.  The 
women  smiled  placidly  and  dropped  him  a 
modest  courtesy — a  courtesy  which  expressed 
respect  without  a  particle  of  servility.  For  they 
were  all  Mackenzies  and  Torquils ;  only  Sir 
Rolfe  was  The  Torguil,  the  head  of  their  house, 
the  chief  of  their  sect,  and,  as  such,  entitled  to 
their  affection  and  respect. 

He  felt  its  sincerity,  and  it  warmed  his  heart, 
and  brought  a  mist  of  tears  into  his  bright,  stern 
eyes.  He  was  telling  himself,  as  he  entered  his 
children's  presence,  that  no  military  honor  or 
disciplined  subservience  could  compare  with 
regard  so  personal  and  so  spontaneous.  And 
their  delight  and  love  crowned  his  satisfaction, 
so  that  he  went  to  his  own  rooms  that  night 
penetrated  with  grateful  and  pleasant  emotions. 

As  Donald  had  anticipated,  he  took  possession 
of  the  apartments  always  occupied  by  the  barons 
of  Tasmer.  They  were  situated  in  the  south 
wing,  facing  the  sea,  and  connected  with  an 
oratory  in  the  old  central  tower.  It  was  neces- 


26  The  Beads  of  Tasmer. 

sary  that  he  should  visit  this  oratory,  for  the 
rnost  sacred  charge  of  his  father's  dying  hours 
referred  to  it.  He  sat  for  some  time  thinking, 
then  he  took  from  his  pocket-book  the  last  letter 
which  he  had  received  from  the  deceased  baron, 
and  he  read  the  following  portion : 

"  Be  careful  of  the  ivory  beads  you  will  find  in  the  oratory; 
and  do  not  be  so  foolish,  son  Rolfe,  as  to  think  all  beyond 
your  understanding  superstition.  I  have  been  told,  as  I  now 
tell  you,  that  the  fortune  of  Tasmer  is,  in  some  way  unknown 
to  me,  influenced  by  them.  They  were  brought  here  in  A.  D. 
ji  33  by  Murdo  Torquil,  a  true  knight,  who  followed  Tancred 
to  Sicily  to  the  conquest  of  Jerusalem.  He  it  was  who  built 
the  church  in  which  we  still  worship.  Forget  not  to  pray  for 
your  ancestors  when  you  kneel  before  its  altar.  As  he  was 
dying  he  put  the  beads  into  the  Torquil's  hand,  and  with  them 
a  writing  which  a  wise  Augustine  monk  from  Feme,  wrote 
out  thus : 

;< '  Tellen  these  trewe  wordse  : 

Whaune  Tasmer's  fortune  shalle  wane  and  faide, 

Thaune  aske  of  the  beads  of  Tasmer  aide.'  " 

Sir  Rolfe  read  this  portion  over  again,  and  as 
he  refolded  the  letter,  there  was  no  doubt  on  his 
face.  Slowly,  and  with  a  marked  solemnity  of 


The  Beads  of    Tasmer.  27 

manner,  he  turned  the  key  of  the  oratory  door 
and  closed  it  behind  him.  It  was  one  of  the 
small  rooms  contained  in  the  walls  of  the  tower  ; 
but  the  stone  had  been  covered  with  hangings 
of  purple  velvet.  They  were  nearly  a  century 
old  and  frail  with  age,  but  the  lustrous  dye  and 
strong  silk  pile  of  Genoa,  even  in  decay,  looked 
royal  and  handsome.  The  stone  floor  was 
uncovered,  and  there  was  only  one  piece  of  fur 
niture  in  the  room — a  heavily  carved  oak  lee- 
turn,  holding  an  open  parchment  breviary  and  a 
rosary  of  large  ivory  beads,  beautifully  cut,  but 
yellow  with  age. 

Light  was  admitted  through  a  window  of 
stained  glass,  and  the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun 
tinged  with  marvelous  glory  a  large  white 
crucifix  standing  clearly  out  against  its  purple 
background.  With  the  holy  sign  Sir  Rolfe 
lifted  the  beads,  made  rich  by  centuries  of  sup 
plications,  and  kneeling  at  the  foot  of  the  cross, 
he  recited  not  only  the  prayers  appointed  for 
the  living,  but  also  that  solemn  litany  for  the 


28 


The  Beads  of   Tasmer. 


dead    whose    intercession    is   by   virtue  of  the 
cross : 

"  Give   them,  O   Lord,  eternal   rest ;    and  let 
perpetual  light  shine  upon  them." 


CHAPTER    II. 

ROBERTA. 

"All  the  events  of  life  are  materials  out  of  which  we  may 
make  what  we  will."  NOVALIS. 

"  He  who  loses  not  his  senses  in  love,  has  no  senses  to 
lose." 

"  Beneath  her  eyelids  deep 
Love  lying  seems  asleep — 
Love,  swift  to  wake,  to  weep, 
To  laugh,  to  dream." 

There  was  sunshine  and  clear  air,  and  a  good 
blow  of  fresh  wind ;  and  in  it  the  Sea  Bird  was 
dancing-  along  the  pulsing  floor  of  the  sea,  and 
humming  a  pleasant  tune  as  she  went.  She  had 
been  northward  as  far  as  the  Gairloch,  and  was 
making  for  the  little  harbor  of  Torquil  in  the 


30  Roberta. 

morning  light;  and  Angus  Mackenzie  and  a 
couple  of  young  lads  were  the  whole  of  her 
crew,  and  they  were  as  merry  a  company  as 
ever  journeyed  along  those  storied,  cheerless 
seas. 

But  this  morning  the  gray  Minch  was  dim 
pling  all  over,  and  the  boat,  with  a  good  wind 
from  the  northwest,  "  went  away  like  a  lady." 
The  comparison  was  Donald's.  He  was  sitting 
with  Angus  on  her  deck,  drinking  their  early 
cup  of  coffee.  They  were  talking  gayly,  for 
they  were  always  happy  when  they  were 
together ;  and  it  was  evident  that  they  had  been 
much  together  for  some  weeks,  for  Donald's 
skin  had  taken  on  that  red-brown  tint,  which  is 
only  made  by  the  salted  wind  of  the  sea. 

Keeping  well  in  shore,  they  were  surrounded 
by  multitudes  of  sea-birds,  whose  shrill  cries 
mingled  not  unpleasantly  with  the  ringing 
Gaelic  of  the  boys,  and  the  stirring  sound  of 
bouncing  water. 

"  What  are  the  lads  singing,  Angus  ?" 


Roberta.  3 1 

"  A  song  about  the  Rover  of  Rochryan.  It  is  a 
goot  song  whateffer.  If  you  will  be  knowing 
it,  you  will  say  that  it  is  a  goot  song." 

"  How  can  I  know  it,  when  I  understand  so 
little  Gaelic  ?" 

"  In  the  English,  too,  it  will  be  lerry  well. 
They  were  saying  it  would  be  like  this — ii  you 
will  be  hearing  it,"  and  Angus  rolled  out  the 
last  verse  of  the  spirited  sea  song  with  all  his 
own  peculiar  intonations : 

"  Unstent  and  slack  each  reef  and  tack, 

Gi'e  her  sail,  boys,  while  it  may  sit ; 
She's  roar'd  through  a  heavier  sea  before, 

An'  she'll  roar  through  a  heavier  yet. 
When  landsmen  sleep,  or  wake  and  creep, 

In  the  tempest's  angry  moan, 
We  dash  through  the  drift,  and  sing  to  the  lift 

Of  the  wave  that  heaves  us  on." 

"  It  is  a  good  song,  Angus,  but  I  like  Father 
Matthew's  song  better." 

"  There  are  other  men,  ay,  there  are  other 
men  who  will  be  saying  that  also  ;  ior  there 


32  Roberta. 

never  was  jn   the   world   such  a  boat-song  as 
Father  Matthew's  song." 

"  Then  let  us  sing  it  together  as  we  are  coming 
into  harbor.  Cheerily,  Angus,  sing  with  a*. 
your  heart,  and  the  birds  will  listen  to  us,  and 
the  wind  and  the  water  will  be  our  chorus : 

"  Boat,  that  bears  me  through  foam  and  squall, 
You  in  the  storm  are  my  castle  wall ; 
Though  the  sea  blacken  from  bottom  to  top, 
From  tiller  to  mast  she  takes  no  drop. 

"  On  the  tide  top  !    The  tide  top ! 
v  Wide,  white  breast  of  the  cradling  «a  ; 

On  the  tide  top  !    The  tide  top ! 

That  is  enough  for  my  boat  and  me ! 

"She  dresses  herself,  and  goes  gliding  on, 
Like  a  lady  in  robes  of  Indian  lawn  ; 
For  God  has  blessed  her  gunnel  and  wale, 
And  oh !  if  you  saw  her  stretch  out  to  the  gale, 

"  On  the  tide  top  !    The  tide  top  ! 

Wide,  white  breast  of  the  cradling  sea; 
On  the  tide  top  !     The  tide  top  ! 
That  is  enough  for  my  boat  and  me. 


Roberta.  33 

"  Old  rocks,  ahoy  !    Old  hearts  of  stone ! 
Stooping  so  black  o'er  the  beach  alone, 
Answer  me  true  :    On  the  bursting  brine 
Saw  you  ever  a  boat  like  mine  ? 

"  On  the  tide  top  !     The  tide  top  ! 

Wide,  white  breast  of  the  cradling  sea ; 
On  the  tide  top !     The  tide  top  ! 

That  is  enough  for  my  boat  and  me !" 

They  were  singing  as  the  boat  cast  anchor ; 
and  as  Donald  climbed  the  hill,  he  burst  out 
again  and  again  into  the  stirring,  swinging 
melody.  In  the  firs  he  became  suddenly  silent. 
A  figure  was  approaching  him — a  tall,  spare 
man,  with  an  air  of  authority  and  contemplation. 
As  they  met,  their  faces  brightened. 

"  Father,  your  blessing !"  And  in  the  twilight 
of  the  firs,  the  father's  hand  was  lifted  a  moment 
over  the  young  head,  reverently  bared  and 
bent. 

"  My  son,  God  give  you  His  blessing.  Where 
have  you  been  ?  It  is  the  fifth  day  since  you 
left  Tasmer." 


34  Roberta. 

"  Northward  to  the  Gairloch.  It  was  a  fine 
sail.  If  you  had  been  with  us,  it  would  have 
been  much  better.  Last  night,  off  Scalpa,  we 
sang  "the  Ave  Mary,  and  missed  your  help. 
Some  fishing-boats  were  near,  and  they  sang 
with  us ;  but  we  missed  your  voice,  dear 
Father." 

"  Now,  Donald,  are  you  going  home  ?" 

"  Yes,  Father." 

"That  is  right.  Sir  Rolfe  is  troubled  about 
you.  You  do  not  please  him  lately.  A  son 
should  be  obedient." 

Donald's  face  showed  a  little  resentment. 

"  I  try  to  be  obedient.  It  is  very  hard  some 
times,  Father." 

"  Have  you  considered  well  the  words  I  gave 
you  to  read  ? — '  It  is  much  more  secure  to  be  in 
a  state  of  subjection  than  in  authority.'  " 

"  But  a  young  man  may  have  an  opinion  of 
his  own?" 

" '  If  God  be  amongst  us,  we  may  sometimes 
give  up  our  opinion  for  the  sake  of  peace.' " 


Roberta.  35 

"  But  if  I  am  certainly  right?" 

"  '  Although  thy  opinion  be  good,  yet  if,  for 
God's  sake,  thou  leavest  it,  to  follow  that  of 
another,  it  will  be  more  profitable  to  thee.' 
These  are  the  counsels  of  one  wiser  and  holier 
than  most  mortals."  * 

He  passed  gravely  on  with  the  words,  and 
Donald,  troubled  at  the  reproof  and  the  obliga 
tion  implied  in  it,  reached  Tasmer  in  an 
unhappy  and  dissatisfied  mood.  It  was  yet 
early,  and  in  the  entrance  hall  he  saw  Fergus, 
the  oldest  servant  in  the  castle,  pottering  about 
among  the  antlers  and  shields  and  dusty  old 
flags.  As  Donald  appeared,  he  dropped  all  pre 
tences,  and  went  to  meet  him. 

"  It  wass  a  goot  wind  that  blew  you  home, 
Maistir  Tonalt.  Sir  Rolfe  is  the  angry  man ; 
the  angriest  man  in  all  Ross,  is  he  whateffer." 

"  Have  I  done  anything  wrong,  Fergus,  while 
I  was  out  of  sight  and  hearing  ?" 

*  Thomas  a  Kempis — The  following  of  Christ. — Chap.  9. 


36  Roberta. 

"  You  haf  been  strafaiging  aal  over  the 
Minch  ;  you  haf  been  more  as  four  days  away  ; 
and  you  know  there  iss  company  in  the  house, 
and  Sir  Rolfe  is  not  in  the  mood  to  be  doing  the 
honors  to  any  man,  no,  nor  yet  to  the  saints 
themselves." 

Donald  made  no  further  remark,  but  he  went 
up-stairs  to  change  his  sea-suit,  fretted  and 
unhappy.  With  a  heart  full  of  love  and  of  good 
intentions,  he  seemed  quite  unable  to  satisfy  his 
father.  It  was  scarcely  the  youth's  fault,  for  the 
things  in  which  he  offended  were  parts  and 
results  of  circumstances  which  Donald  Torquil 
had  no  power  to  alter  or  control. 

In  the  first  place,  his  presence  in  the  castle 
was  not  desirable.  There  was  really  no  place 
for  him,  no  duty  to  fulfil ;  and  as  Sir  Rolfe  fre 
quently  suffered  from  those  diseases  common  to 
East  Indian  officers,  Donald  was  a  constant  pres 
entation  to  the  nervous,  suspicious  man,  of  an 
heir  waiting  for  his  decease.  Generally,  he 
knew  well  that  the  suspicion  was  falsv  and  cruel, 


Roberta.  37 

but  there  were  hours  when  he  half-believed  it, 
and  when  it  humored  his  ill-temper  to  say  so. 
That  momentary  shadow  of  Donald  in  The 
Torquil's  chair,  which  had  darkened  his  own 
welcome  home,  was,  in  a  dim,  unacknowledged 
way,  the  key  to  the  treatment  of  his  son ;  per 
haps  because  it  interpreted  some  unvoiced 
regret  or  resentment  in  his  own  delayed  inheri 
tance. 

Also,  he  was  annoyed  by  his  inability  to  pro 
vide  tor  Donald  without  seriously  curtailing  his 
own  plans.  He  felt  that  the  youth  ought  to 
have  his  commission,  but  to  give  it  to  him 
would  not  only  necessitate  the  outlay  of  much 
ready  money,  but  also  the  obligation  of  an  allow 
ance  sufficient  to  maintain  the  honor  of  the 
Torquils  among  his  associates.  It  was  true  the 
late  baron  had  thus  provided  for  him,  and  often 
at  serious  personal  inconvenience.  He  could 
remember  years  when  his  remittances  must 
have  been  the  result  of  great  self-denial  on  the 
part  of  the  whole  Tasmer  household.  But  he 


38  Roberta. 

told  himself  that  he  was  placed  in  very  different 
circumstances.  The  late  baron  had  been  a  keen 
sportsman ;  he  asked  no  other  pleasure  or 
occupation,  and  it  was  economically  at  his  own 
doors. 

The  late  baron  had  no  daughter  to  marry ;  he 
was  not  therefore  compelled  to  entertain  com 
pany  and  to  keep  up  the  retinue  fashionable 
society  demanded.  Sir  Rolfe  was  fond  of  his 
daughter ;  his  fatherly  instinct  toward  her  was 
without  a  breath  of  suspicion,  and  her  beauty 
was  a  source  of  great  pride  to  him.  He  was 
anxious  to  give  her  every  advantage,  and  to  do 
this,  and  also  to  make  Donald  the  allowance 
suitable  to  an  officer  in  a  good  cavalry  regiment, 
was  beyond  his  power.  But  he  constantly 
reflected  that  Donald  was  only  twenty-two 
years  old,  and  that  he  could  very  well  wait  a 
little,  and  allow  his  sister  to  have  such  advan 
tages  as  are  supposed  necessary  for  the  matri 
monial  settlement  of  a  girl. 

It  was  such  reflections  as  these  which  colored 


Roberta.  39 

the  first  weeks  of  life  at  Tasmer  after  Sir  Rolfe's 
return.  Still,  no  one  becomes  unkind  or  unjust 
at  once.  There  must  be  an  aggregation  of  small 
wrongs,  and  for  these  time  is  necessary.  Other 
resisting  powers  against  evil  were  also  ever 
steadily  at  work.  Sir  Rolfe  was  yet,  in  the 
main,  obedient  to  his  confessor,  Father  Matthew 
Contach,  a  man  of  lofty  ideals  and  spotless  purity 
of  action ;  and  still  his  guardian  angel,  with 
prayers  unutterable  and  never-ceasing  vigils, 
kept  watch  over  the  soul  committed  to  it ;  for 
other  friends  may  grow  weary,  and  lose  patience, 
and  cease  to  love,  but  a  man's  guardian  angel  is 
his  soul's  oldest  and  truest  friend ;  from  his 
first  breath  unto  his  last  breath,  it  will  never 
leave  nor  forsake  him. 

Eyes  watch  us  that  we  cannot  see, 

Lips  warn  us  that  we  may  not  kiss ; 
They  wait  for  us — and  starrily 

Lean  toward  us  from  Heaven's  lattices.* 


*  "  For  He  shall  give  His  angels  charge  over  Thee,  to  keep 
thee  in  all  thy  ways." — Psalm  xci ;    n. 


4O  Roberta. 

Thus  swayed  by  opposing  influences,  Sir 
Rolfe  was  neither  wholly  good  nor  wholly  bad. 
There  were  days  in  which  his  son's  candid,  joy 
ous  temper  and  handsome  person  gave  him 
pride  and  pleasure,  and  in  which  he  was  kind 
and  even  just  to  him.  In  such  a  mood  he  had 
bought  the  Sea  Bird  for  Donald,  and  told  him 
while  he  was  waiting  his  commission  to  make 
himself  familiar  with  the  neighboring  coasts  and 
islets. 

"  For,"  said  he,  as  he  solemnly  signed  himself, 
"  they  are  girt  with  the  solitary  caves  and  ruined 
churches  of  the  early  saints." 

The  boat  had  been  a  real  friend.  When  the 
domestic  atmosphere  was  cloudy,  Donald  usually 
stole  away  in  it,  and  found  upon  the  ocean's 
breast  the  companionship  and  sympathy  it  has 
for  all  who  love  it.  With  his  own  unrest,  its 
unrest  blent,  until  both  alike  heard  the  divine 
whisper — "  Peace  !  Be  still."  Or  he  drifted  on 
placid  seas  into  lovely  bays,  empty  of  all  earth's 
noises,  but  full  of  the  presence  of  God.  Or 


Roberta.  41 

Angus  Mackenzie  went  with  him,  and  they  had  a 
real  fight  with  wind  and  waves,  and  in  the  close 
strait  between  lite  and  death,  easily  forgot  the 
petty  vexations  for  which  there  is  no  remedy  but 
that  sufferance  so  intolerable  to  impatient  youth. 

Very  often,  'however,  Angus  could  not  go 
with  him.  The  fishing  had  to  be  attended  to, 
and  Angus  was  his  father's  chief  helper.  So 
Donald  ventured  out  with  only  a  couple  of  boys 
from  the  village,  and  gradually  learned  how  to 
manage  the  boat  that  was  "  his  castle  wall,"  and 
keep  her  cleverly  "  on  the  tide  top."  At  first, 
when  Angus  was  not  with  him,  he  hugged  the 
shore  closely,  for  the  narrow  seas  were  full  of 
races  and  contrary  currents,  and  also  subject  to 
sudden  squalls,  needing  not  only  the  most  alert 
movements,  but  also  a  knowledge  of  the  elements 
which  was  almost  a  prescience. 

One  day,  soon  after  the  Sea  Bird  had  been 
given  him,  he  wanted  to  go  northward,  but 
Angus  could  not  leave  the  nets.  It  was  an 
exquisite  day  in  August ;  there  would  be  a  full 


42  Roberta. 

moon  at  night,  and  Donald  felt  all  the  magic  oi 
the  lonely  sea  by  anticipation.  He  was  yet  a 
novice  about  managing  his  boat,  and  in  the  after 
noon  of  the  second  day,  a  breeze  came  out  of 
the  northeast,  and  flew  round  to  the  southeast, 
with  a  thunderstorm  among  the  Alps  of  Tor- 
ridon.  He  had  only  two  lads  with  him,  and 
thought  it  best  to  up  helm  and  run  for  it.  For 
a  few  miles  the  boat  bore  down  the  wind,  the 
breeze  hardening  and  the  sea  rising  all  the  time. 
The  small  topmast  was  bending  like  a  whip,  and 
pretty  soon  it  went  with  a  crash  that  made 
Donald,  for  the  moment,  let  go  the  helm  with 
fright.  After  another  blow,  the  topmast  gear 
got  tangled  up  with  the  main  rigging,  the  hal 
yards  were  badly  jammed,  and  though  boys 
are  generally  willing  to  do  reckless  things  on  a 
boat,  Donald's  helpers  were  quite  unable  to  get 
the  mess  cut  away. 

Fortunately  there  was  a  little  smack  in  sight. 
It  rounded  cleverly  up  alongside  the  Sea  Bird, 
and  one  of  the  occupants  asked  what  was  the 


Roberta.  43 

mischief.  But  it  was  easier  to  sec  the  mischief 
than  to  listen  to  any  description  of  it,  and  before 
Donald  had  finished  speaking,  the  interrogator 
and  a  girl  who  stood  by  his  side  were  on  board. 
Then  no  explanations  were  necessary.  The  girl 
took  the  helm,  and  the  man  went  to  work  with 
a  will,  and  with  Donald's  help,  the  loose  gear 
was  cast  adrift  and  the  boat  made  as  snug  as 
was  possible  under  the  circumstances.  The 
smack  had  sheared  off.  The  wind  was  rising, 
the  waves  running  wildly,  and  after  a  busy,  wet 
hour,  Donald  was  glad  to  find  the  Sea  Bird, 
under  the  girl's  hand,  making  for  a  misty  little 
cove  in  the  shadow  of  Ben  Bhreach. 

Very  soon  they  were  in  smooth  water,  and 
then  Donald  looked  more  closely  at  his  helpers. 
The  man  was  evidently  a  clergyman.  When  he 
put  back  his  fisher's  oil-skins  he  showed  the 
black  broadcloth  and  white  bands  of  his  profes 
sion  ;  and  ere  Donald  could  speak,  he  said : 

"  I  am  David  Balfour,  Free  Kirk  minister  of 
Lilcrloch.  Yonder  stone  house  is  my  manse, 


44  Roberta, 

and  both  I  and  my  daughter  Roberta  will  be 
glad  to  give  you  shelter  to-night.  It  will  be  a 
bad  night,  Roberta !" 
"  It  will  be  a  very  bad  night — at  sea." 
Then  Donald  turned  to  the  girl  who  still  stood 
by  the  helm.  She  had  flung  back  from  her  head 
the  tartan  hood  which  had  hitherto  almost  hid 
her  face,  and  she  fully  enjoyed  Donald's  sur 
prise.  For  Roberta  Balfour  was  no  ordinary 
Scotch  beauty ;  many  people  doubted  if  she 
were  a  beauty  at  all.  Her  own  sex  was  inclined 
to  deny  her  even  a  moderate  share  of  good 
looks ;  but  to  those  who  could  feel  the  girl's 
charm,  she  was  of  the  grandest  type  of  woman 
hood,  tall,  supple,  strong,  full  of  an  intense 
ritalitj,  with  the  free,  haughty  carriage  of  a 
young  deer  on  the  mountains.  Her  head  was 
large  and  finely  formed ;  she  had  a  great  deal  of 
black  hair,  strong  and  wavy  ;  a  wide,  low  brow; 
large  brown  eyes ;  a  nose  rather  flat,  and  broad 
at  the  end,  with  wide  nostrils ;  and  a  well- 
termed  chin  below  a  lovely  mouth,  red  and  full, 


Roberta.  45 

and  showing  white,  even  teeth.  When  Donald 
first  saw  her,  it  was  under  unusually  favorable 
circumstances.  She  loved  the  sea,  and  in  an 
encounter  with  its  roughest  moods  rose  to  her 
grandest  beauty. 

She  added  a  few  words  of  welcome  to  her 
father's  invitation,  and  crowned  them  with  a 
smile  beyond  all  words.  The  evening  was  like 
some  blessed  trance  to  Donald.  He  saw  her 
moving  about  the  manse  parlor,  making  tea,  fill 
ing  the  minister'  pipe,  lighting  the  candles  ;  and 
he  heard  her  speaking  in  some  glorified  tongue, 
that  only  men  in  love  ever  hear.  Her  clear, 
musical  laugh  moved  his  pulses  in  a  joyful  meas 
ure  ;  her  little  plaintive  songs  made  him  divinely 
sad.  He  could  not  sleep;  he  did  not  want  to 
sleep.  He  sat  by  the  fire  in  a  kind  of  rapture, 
and  thought  over  every  change  in  her  exquisite 
face  and  every  tone  in  her  voice.  He  recalled 
her  moods  and  attitudes.  He  could  have  wept 
with  joy. 

"  I  have  found  her  whom  my  soul  loveth,"  he 


46  Roberta. 

said,  softly ;  and  the  noblest  nature  of  the  man 

'    was  touched  by  the  reflection.     "  Blessed  Virgin 

Mary,"  he  whispered,  "  Lover  of  all  pure  women, 

to  Thee  I  offer  the  first  moments  of  my  delight. ' 

And  then  humbly  kneeling,  he  recited  the  five 
joyful  mysteries  and  the  Salve  Regina.  Doubt 
less,  it  was  the  first  time  the  Blessed  Among 
Women  had  been  honored  under  the  roof ;  but 
Donald  thought  not,  and  felt  not,  any  incon 
gruity  in  the  whole  universe.  He  had  listened 
to  the  minister  reading  his  appointed  portion 
and  making  his  usual  household  prayer,  and  that 
as  well  as  all  which  had  been  said  and  done,  had 
only  been  a  part  of  the  wonderful  state  in  which 
he  found  himself. 

For  two  days  he  lingered  at  Ellerloch.  He 
climbed  the  hills  with  Roberta ;  he  sailed  the 
bay  with  her.  They  went  into  the  garden 
together,  and  he  helped  her  to  gather  the  late 
roses,  and  the  raspberries  and  currants  for  the 
table.  He  had  found  his  Eden,  and,  as  yet,  noth 
ing  that  could  trouble  had  entered  it. 


CHAPTER   III. 

CROSS   PU  RPOSES. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  Donald's  visits  to 
Ellerloch  were  constantly  repeated.  Under 
Roberta's  instructions  he  soon  became  expert  in 
handling  a  boat  on  that  coast.  He  got  to  know 
every  shadow  from  the  blue  Canisp  and  the 
white  crests  of  Torridon — in  fact,  Sir  Rolfe  had 
just  cause  to  complain  of  his  continual  absence, 
his  dislike  to  Tasmer,  and  his  apparent  infatua. 
tion  for  salt  water. 

But  his  disapproval  did  not  touch  the  real 
truth.  He  suspected  no  love  affair.  He  was 
quite  sure  that  Donald  delighted  in  his  boat 
because  she  was  his  own — because  he  was  mas 
ter  within  her  small  boundaries — because  to  be 


48  Cross  Purposes. 

at  sea  released  him  from  all  obligations  to  him 
self. 

Naturally  this  belief  was  irritating.  Sir  Rolfe 
was  fond  of  authority,  and  he  had  been  used  to 
exercise  it.  Donald  was  very  like  a  deserter  in 
his  eyes.  The  assurance  of  Fergus  that  Sir 
Rolfe  was  the  angriest  man  in  Ross  was  not  that 
September  morning  very  much  exaggerated. 
And  by  this  time  Donald  had  begun  to  realize 
that  his  father  had  some  cause  to  be  angry.  He 
had  spent  the  past  five  or  six  weeks  journeying 
between  Torquil  and  Ellerloch.  If  the  journey 
had  been  the  business  of  the  Sea  Bird,  he  could 
not  have  been  more  regularly  upon  the  water 
way. 

He  expected  his  father's  call  with  some  trep 
idation.  He  was  prepared  to  make  apologies 
and  promises.  But  a  night's  sleep  had  calmed 
Sir  Rolfe.  God's  good  angels  visit  men 
a-dreaming,  and  God  has  lessons  for  the  night 
season.  Many  a  man  goes  to  bed  angry,  and 
rises  chidden  and  quiet ;  and  he  tells  no  one  who 


Cross  Purposes.  49 

has  been  reasoning  with  him  or  reproving  him. 
Donald  was  astonished  and  touched  by  his 
father's  gentleness ;  he  felt  ashamed  of  his 
neglect,  and  said  so. 

"  Father,  I  have  made  a  selfish  use  of  your 
gift,  I  fear.  I  have  been  so  happy  with  the  Sea 
Bird,  that  I  have  neglected  you  and  Sara.  I 
will  do  better." 

"  The  winter  weather  will  help  you,  Donald. 
However,  your  duty  will  now  be  at  Tasmer. 
Have  you  heard  that  we  have  visitors  ?" 

"  Fergus  told  me  of  Lord  Lenox  and  a  Mr. 
Maclane." 

"  Yes.  Lenox  is  the  son  of  an  old  comrade. 
He  has  inherited  very  unexpectedly.  I  met  him 
in  London." 

"  I  never  heard  you  speak  of  Mr.  Maclane." 

"  I  do  not  know  him  particularly.  He  is  a 
friend  of  Lord  Lenox.  But  he  is  very  rich,  and 
I  expect  him  to  rent  Glen  Mohr  as  a  shooting- 
ground  next  year.  I  shall  put  up  a  '  box  '  for 
him  before  then  ;  at  the  present,  however,  he  is 


50  Cross  Purposes. 

our  guest  for  a  short  time.  You  will,  of  course, 
do  all  you  can  to  make  the  visit  agreeable." 

He  spoke  in  a  hurried,  decided  way,  as  if  to 
prevent  any  expression  of  opinion.  Donald  was 
not  prepared  to  speak,  and,  indeed,  he  hardly 
knew  what  to  say.  A  sense  of  indignation  was 
in  his  heart,  but  he  was  compelled  to  restrain 
the  feeling.  How  could  he  interfere  with  his 
father's  plans?  He  remembered  that  once 
before,  when  he  had  offered  some  objections  to 
a  very  trivial  matter,  Sir  Rolfe  had  haughtily 
reminded  him  that  he  would  have  the  right  to 
alter  it  when  he  was  Baron  of  Tasmer. 

And  yet  his  burning  cheeks  and  air  of 
restraint  did  not  escape  Torquil. 

"  Donald  will  be  hard  to  manage,"  he 
reflected  ;  "  but,  willing  or  unwilling,  the  thing 
must  be  done.  I  stood  at  bay  in  the  Kyber 
Pass,  thirty  to  one  against  me,  and  came  out 
victor.  Shall  I  let  Donald  and  a  few  peasants, 
or  even  Father  Contach,  move  me?  No!  By 
every  Torquil  that  has  lived  before  me,  I  will 


Cross  Purposes.  51 

do  for  Tasmer  the  thing  I  know  is  trie  best. 
Donald  may  be  against  me,  but  they  that  were 
before  me  will  be  my  helpers — there  is  a 
good  company  of  them,  even  if  I  go  no  further 
back  than  Knight  Murdo  Torquil.  He  could 
think  forward  for  his  race  ;  why  should  not  I  ?" 
And  then,  moved  by  some  sudden  impulse,  he 
went  into  the  oratory,  lifted  the  old  knight's 
beads  and  knelt  down  with  them  in  his  hands. 

In  the  meantime,  Donald  had  gone  to  his  sister's 
room.  She  had  been  in  the  fir-woods,  and  still 
sat  before  the  fire  with  her  mantle  around  her 
and  her  bonnet  in  her  hand.  An  air  of  melan 
choly  or  dissatisfaction  was  on  her  face.  She 
did  not  answer  Donald  with  her  usual  impulsive 
affection.  Half-wearily  she  turned  her  head 
and  ejaculated : 

"You,  Donald!" 

"Whom  else  did  you  expect?" 

"  Any  one  but  you.  You  live  at  sea — or 
somewhere  else — now.  Your  talk  is  of  the 
Gairloch,  but  there  are  lochs  nearer,  perhaps." 


52  Cross  Purposes. 

"Are  you  cross,  Sara?" 

"No;  but  I  am  a  little  out  of  heart,  Donald 
Things  have  not  been  as  we  expected,  have 
they?  Father  is  changed ;  there  is  no  use  try 
ing  to  ignore  the  fact.  He  has  one  idea  now — 
money.  I  see  that  every  one  and  everything  is 
to  serve  this  end." 

"  What  has  he  said  to  you?" 

"  That  the  estate  has  been  sinfully  mismanaged 
and  neglected.  He  thinks  it  is  his  mission  to 
redeem  it.  He  refers  constantly  to  the  Lenox 
property,  which  marches  north  and  east  with 
Tasmer.  It  was  almost  bankrupt  when  Simon 
Lovat  took  it  in  charge ;  now,  it  is  steadily 
becoming  valuable.  Lovat  has  been  to  see 
father  several  times.  They  talk  and  talk,  and 
after  every  interview  father  is  more  thoughtful 
and  disagreeable." 

"  Do  you  know  what  Lovat  proposes  ?" 

"  Father  will  tell  you  soon  enough.  I  hear  of 
*  clearances  '  continually.  There  are  thirty-six 
cotters'  families  in  Glen  Easter,  and  Lorat  urges 


Cross  Purposes.  53 

their  removal.  Glen  Mohr  and  Ben  Torquil  and 
Torquil  Woods  are  to  be  let — let,  Donald — as 
hunting-parks.  There  is  not  a  clachan  on  the 
estate,  or  a  rood  of  land  that  is  not  under  consid 
eration." 

"  It  is  the  doing  of  Lord  Lenox." 

"  He  advised  father,  doubtless." 

•'And  it  is  infamous." 

"  It  is — as  it  is." 

"  And  pray,  what  have  Lord  Lenox  and  this 
Mr.  Maclane  to  do  with  Tasmer  ?" 

"  Mr.  Maclane  will  pay  two  thousand  pounds 
a  year  for  shooting  over  Glen  Mohr.  Think  of 
that!  The  Torquil  never  had  as  much  ready 
money  at  one  time  before.  Lord  Lenox  brought 
him  here ;  they  came  last  night,  and  were  off  to 
the  hills  by  daybreak.  Rory  Mackenzie  and 
Ban  Maclntyre  are  gillying  them.  Father  was 
angry  that  you  were  not  at  home  to  go  with  the 
party." 

"  I  am  not  going  to — " 

"  What  nonsense  !     They  are  our  guests." 


54  Cross  Purposes. 

"  Guests  do  not  pay  two  thousand  pounds  a 
year  for  a  little  shooting.  Fancy  grandfather 
renting  out  a  few  grouse." 

"  But  Lord  Lenox  is  our  guest  and  Mr.  Mac- 
lane  is  his  friend." 

"  Do  you  like  them  ?" 

"  1  have  seen  them  for  about  three  hours. 
Lenox  is  handsome,  masterful,  perhaps  cunning. 
I  may  wrong  him.  Maclane,  I  should  think,  is  a 
right-headed,  right-hearted  man.  But  I  was 
thinking  of  many  other  things  last  night ;  they 
came  very  unexpectedly,  the  castle  was  not  in 
condition  for  visitors,  and  1  was  troubled  about 
my  own  dress.  Oh,  dear  me,  Donald !  I  feel  as 
if  we  were  in  the  shadow  of  some  long  calamity. 
Our  happy  past  is  over." 

"  As  for  the  past,  let  it  go,  Sara.  It  is  like  a 
fire  burned  out;  it  cannot  be  rekindled.  But  I 
see  no  reason  lor  you  to  sigh  over  the  future. 
Father  Matthew  told  me  to  make  a  special 
prayer  against  that  sin.  He  said  it  was  a  great 
folly  if  I  saw  a  stone  in  the  road  to  immediately 


Cross  Purposes.  55 

begin  wondering  what  I  should  do  if  the  stone 
became  a  wall,  and  I  had  to  get  over  it.  Per 
haps  if  there  is  a  stone  in  our  way  we  may  pass 
around  it  or  throw  it  out  of  the  way.  At  any 
rate,  it  is  not  a  wall  just  yet,  Sara." 

Sara  rose  and  drew  her  mantle  around  her. 
There  was  an  expression  of  determination  on  her 
lovely  face.  It  was  evident  that  her  womanly 
instinct  had  divined  the  tendency  of  events  as 
yet  scarcely  spoken  of. 

"  You  will  see,  Donald,"  she  said,  sadly,  "  that 
for  the  glory  of  Tasmer,  father  will  demand  our 
entire  co-operation.  You  will  be  expected  to 
work  with  Lovat  in  its  *  clearance ;'  I  to  marry 
whoever  can  bring  it  prosperity." 

"  Every  Torquil  is  my  kin.  I  will  help  no 
man,  not  even  father,  to  drive  them  from  Tor 
quil  braes  or  Tasmer  hills.  And  if  I  am  true  to 
them,  you  will  be  true  to  yourself,  Sara?  Oh,  I 
know  you  will  be  true  to  yourself !" 

"  I  can  be  true  as  you  are  to  the  Torquils. 
They  are  my  kin  also." 


56  Cross  Purposes. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  and  then  Sara 
moved  slowly  toward  the  door.  Donald  inter 
cepted  her,  took  her  hands,  and  said,  with  eyes 
humid  with  feeling: 

"  Dearest  sister,  marry  no  man  unless  you  love 
him.  That  is  a  sacrifice  far  too  great.  Marriage 
without  love  !  Who  can  measure  such  a  sor 
row,  such  a  degradation  ?" 

"  Are  you  in  love  ?  You  speak  as  if  you  were, 
Donald." 

"  I  fear  these  guests.     Lord  Lenox — " 

"  Is  too  poor.     Father  thinks  not  of  him." 

"And  Mr.  Maclane?" 

"  Is  certainly  very  rich  ;  but — " 

"  But  what,  Sara  ?" 

"  Love  is  not  bought  in  the  market-place." 
And  with  the  open  door  in  her  hand,  she  threw 
back  to  him  a  glance  so  radiant,  so  commanding 
and  self-sufficient,  that  she  seemed  to  stand  for  a 
moment  in  its  glory  and  to  make  sunshine 
where  she  stood. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

UNDERCURRENTS. 

We  do  but  guess  at  one  another  darkly  'mid  the  strife 

That  thickens  round  us ;  in  this  life  of  ours 

We  are  like  players,  knowing  not  the  powers 

Nor  compass  of  the  instruments  we  vex, 

And  by  our  rash,  unskillful  hands  perplex 

To  straining  discords." 

"  What  talk  is  there  of  fathers,  when  there  is  suck  a  ma» 
as  Orlando  ?" 

After  his  conversation  with  his  sister,  Donald 
took  his  gun,  and  passing  through  the  fir-vrood 
at  its  narrowest  part,  was  soon  on  the  wild 
heath  bejond  it.  He  was  not  a  keen  sportsman, 
and  this  morning  his  solitude  was  more  to  him 
than  game.  After  an  hour's  tramp,  he  came 
suddenly  in  sight  of  a  grand  stag — a  mighty 


58  Undercurrents. 

beast,  with  a  stretch  of  horns  like  the  half  of  a 
cart-wheel.  From  his  nostrils  the  breath  was 
pouring  like  smoke,  and  his  great  yellow  body 
glistened  in  the  sun.  Donald  could  see  the  per 
fect  cup  of  three  points  surmounting  either 
antler,  and  the  animal's  bellowing  filled  the  little 
corrie  with  its  hollow,  angry  roar.  He  could 
have  shot  him  easily,  and  for  a  moment  was 
inclined  to  do  so.  "  For  he  is  a  ten-pointer,  il 
not  a  royal,"  he  thought,  "  and  it  would  be  some 
thing  of  a  triumph  to  take  home  such  a  prize — a 
respectable  introduction  to  Lenox  and  Maclane 
— and  father  would  like  it,  I  know."  But  he 
deliberately  let  the  chance  pass.  "  Poor  fellow  ! 
Why  should  I  slay  him  ?  He  is  so  eager  and 
happy ;"  arid  with  the  thought  the  gun  was 
lowered. 

The  kind  act  put  him  into  one  of  his  best 
moods;  after  it,  he  had  no  desire  to  kill  the 
birds  around  him.  The  cock  grouse  strutted 
fearlessly  with  his  mate  within  easy  range,  and 
Donald  was  content  to  watch  the  bird's  bright 


Under  cu  r  rents.  5  g 


crimson  comb  and  rich,  brown  plumage,  and  to 
smile  at  his  lordly  attentions  to  the  plainer  hen- 
bird.  The  whirring  creatures  did  not  otherwise 
stir  him  ;  even  the  kick-ic-ic  of  a  covey  of  grouse 
put  no  tingle  in  his  fingers.  For  a  good  soul 
has  infinite  relationships  with  nature,  full  of 
mystery  in  their  beginnings,  but  leading  it  to 
the  glow  of  sacrifice  and  the  ideality  of  love  by 
ways  quite  incomprehensible. 

Donald's  love  made  him  a  better  man. 
Thinking  of  Roberta,  he  was  always  astonished 
to  find  himself  capable  of  actions  above  the 
usual  standard  of  his  life.  Thus,  in  some  way,  it 
was  Roberta  that  saved  the  stag's  life,  and  gave 
the  cock-grouse  and  his  shy  mate  safety.  He 
was  so  happy  in  his  love,  and  yet  there  appears 
to  be  a  divine  necessity  for  joining  joy  and 
sorrow  together.  As  surely  as  we  climb  some 
mount  of  happiness,  we  find  that  the  way  of  sor 
row  lies  parallel  with  it.  Donald  was  so  happy, 
and  yet  he  was  anxious  and  unhappy ;  for  Sara's 


60  Undercurrents. 


words  had  only  put  into  tangible  form  vague 
suspicions  familiar  to  his  heart. 

He  perceived  that  great  changes  were  to  take 
place  at  Tasmer ;  he  understood  that  any 
change  there  must,  in  some  way,  re-act  upon  his 
own  life.  He  was  curious,  and  yet  uneasy, 
about  their  visitors  ;  he  had  an  idea  that  people 
who  were  permitted  to  come  in  contact  with 
other  existences  had  some  message  to  deliver  to 
them,  or  some  influence  to  exert  upon  them. 
They  were  to  be  the  touch  of  fate 

So  musing,  with  Roberta  Balfour  always  as  an 
underlying  thought,  he  wandered  until  the 
short  winter  day  began  to  close.  Without 
being  conscious  of  it,  he  had  instinctively  drawn 
near  to  the  ocean.  Forever  it  called  to  his 
soul  as  a  mother  calls  to  her  child.  In  joy  or 
sorrow,  in  doubt  or  tremor  of  any  kind,  Donald 
felt  its  mysterious  attraction  creep  into  his 
blood,  and  he  answered  the  voice  that  no  one 
but  himself  heard.  To-night,  it  was  tossing  at 
his  feet,  and  echoing  with  sounds  that  said : 


Undercurrents.  61 

"Come!  Come!  Come!"  plainly  enough  to 
him. 

He  turned  reluctantly  away  from  the  tempta 
tion  ;  catching  in  the  gray  light  the  gray  sails  of 
the  Sea  Bird,  and  feeling  an  almost  irresistible 
longing  to  be  in  her  snug  cabin  on  the  tide  top. 
The  castle  was  all  alight  as  he  emerged  from 
the  gloom  of  the  firs ;  and  a  great  wood-fire 
threw  shifting  lustres  and  shadows  over  arms 
and  antlers  and  thick  modern  rugs  and  heavy 
furniture.  In  the  silver  wall-sconces  there  was 
also  a  profusion  of  light,  and  Donald  wondered, 
as  he  went  up  the  usually  dim  stairway,  what 
motive  Sir  Rolfe  had  in  such  extravagance. 

It  had  the  effect,  however,  of  making  him 
particularly  careful  as  to  his  own  appearance, 
and  if  any  old  thane  of  Ross  could  have  seen  the 
slim,  handsome  youth  in  his  broadcloth  and  fine 
linen,  he  must  have  wondered  greatly  at  his 
descendant.  He  found  Sara  already  in  the 
drawing-room,  and  looking  exceedingly  beauti 
ful.  Her  dress  of  blue  silk  added  some  marvel- 


62  Undercurrents. 

ous  charm  to  the  dull  glow  of  her  hair  and  the 
snow  and  rose  of  her  complexion,  and  Donald 
looked  at  her  with  a  brotherly  pride  and 
pleasure. 

They  were  standing  together  on  the  hearth- 
rug,  in  a  loving,  confidential  attitude,  when  Mr. 
Maclane  entered  the  room.  He  thought  they 
were  the  handsomest  couple  he  had  ever  seen, 
and  he  stood  still  a  moment  to  please  himself 
with  the  living  picture.  Then  Sara  turned,  and 
holding  Donald's  hand,  went  forward  a  few  steps 
to  meet  him. 

"  This  is  my  brother,  Mr.  Maclane — my 
brother  Donald.  And  what  kind  of  sport  have 
you  had,  sir  ?" 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  sir ;  and  as  for  sport, 
Miss  Torquil,  I  think  the  pleasures  of  sport  are 
very  much  overrated.  I  have  been  wading 
through  marshes,  I  have  had  my  feet  wet,  and 
shivered  up  and  down  hills,  and  worn  myself 
out  with  carrying  a  gun.  I  have  killed  three 
fine  cock  grouse  and  a  few  hens,  and  I  feel  like  a 


Undercurrents.  63 

murderer.  I  only  hope  I  shall  not  be  asked  to 
eat  my  victims." 

"  That  is  not  the  usual  way  of  describing  a 
day's  shooting,  sir,"  said  Donald,  smiling. 

"  No,  I  suppose  it  is  not." 

"  Yet  1  have  been  in  thorough  sympathy  with 
3-011  to-day.  I  took  my  gun  to  the  hills,  but  I 
could  not  make  up  my  mind  to  destroy  life 
either.  The  innocent  creatures  were  so  happy. 
If  I  had  fired,  I  should  have  felt  like  an 
assassin." 

"  Come  now,  I  like  that — and  from  a  young 
man,  too !  I  think  we  are  going  to  be  friends, 
sir." 

He  spoke  with  an  air  of  candor  there  was  no 
resisting,  although  he  was  not  what  is  usually 
called  a  handsome  or  fascinating  man.  Nature 
had  not  carefully  finished  her  work  in  Andrew 
Machine ;  but  he  was  cast  in  a  noble  mold,  and 
the  difficulties  and  struggles  of  his  life  had  given, 
combined  with  intelligent  and  persevering  cul 
ture,  an  almost  sculptural  appearance  to  features 


64  Undercurrents. 

originally  not  fine.  He  spoke  with  the  burr, 
and  something  also  of  the  homely  patois  of  a 
man  born  just  south  of  the  Solway,  and  it  was 
worth  while  hearing  him  speak  to  a  fool  accord 
ing  to  his  folly.  He  had  been  always  engaged 
in  business,  and  he  was  now  the  hand  to  which 
a  thousand  other  hands  were  extended.  And 
yet  he  had  ever  found  time  for  communion  with 
books  ;  indeed,  hitherto,  he  had  been  fonder  of 
books  than  of  men ;  and  had  made  his  best 
friends  in  the  land  of  shadows,  among  images  of 
departed  heroes  and  benefactors. 

He  was  so  honest,  that  Donald  understood  in 
five  minutes  that  he  was  in  love  with  Sara;  that 
it  was  very  likely  his  first  love  for  woman,  and 
would  just  as  likely  be  his  last.  He  could  not 
conceal  his  admiration,  although  it  was  blent 
with  a  humility  which  would  probably  be  his 
worst  antagonist ;  for  what  woman  ever  thought 
better  of  a  lover  for  his  timidity  ? 

As  they  stood  thus  together,  Sir  Rolfe  and 
Lord  Lenox  entered.  Sir  Rolfe  had  a  moment's 


Undercurrents.  65 

in 
intense   satisfaction   in    the   fine   appearance   of 

his  children.  "  They  are  true  Torquils,"  he 
thought,  and  he  cast  a  momentary  glance  at  his 
companion,  as  if  to  judge  what  effect  so  much 
personal  beauty  had  upon  him. 

But  Lord  Lenox  was  not  a  man  easy  to  rea-.l. 
He  did  not  permit  his  countenance  to  index  his 
emotions,  and  its  general  expression  was  of  that 
complex  character  which  is  the  natural  result  of 
complex  civilization.  He  was  the  young  man  of 
his  generation,  who  had  been  everywhere,  and 
who  could  do  everything — selfish,  ambitious, 
but  withal  notably  good-looking,  and  possessed 
of  that  air  of  distinction  only  given  by  inter 
course  with  men  on  the  highest  social  peaks. 
Lenox,  moreover,  was  a  genuine  sportsman. 
He  could  imagine  no  greater  pleasure  than  fol 
lowing  grouse  through  the  heather — or  waiting 
for  a  red  stag  on  the  misty  mountain  tops — or 
putting  a  fine  grilse  through  its  facings,  with 
fifty  yards  of  line. 

Maclane  was   a  different  man.     The  love  of 


66  Undercurrents. 

the  chase — inherent  in  all — had  in  his  case  been 
directed  toward  wealth,  power  and  position. 
He  had  neither  the  natural  aptitude  nor  the 
physical  stay  necessary  for  a  recreation  that 
was  indeed  repugnant  to  him  in  other  respects. 
With  far  greater  zest,  he  turned  with  Donald  to 
the  sea  and  the  boats. 

"  If  I  am  to  get  wet  and  De  untidy,  I  would 
rather  be  wet  with  fresh  salt  water  than  with 
black  moss  water,"  he  said,  "and  I  like  the 
swing  of  the  boat  far  better  than  tramping  about 
steep  hillsides.  And  then,  Donald,  there  is  no 
necessity  to  kill  anything  at  sea.  It  would  not 
be  'sport'  to  shoot  that  diver  in  motley,  and  her 
red-breasted  swain,  or  even  to  bag  that  ugly, 
greedy-looking  cormorant  flapping  his  dark 
vans  and  protruding  his  long  bare  neck. 
Would  it  ?" 

When  Maclane  made  this  remark  they  were 
on  the  Sea  Bird,  sailing  easily  before  the  wind. 
The  mysteries  of  the  northern  night  were 
gathering  around  them,  pale-sailed  ships  vanish- 


Undercurrents.  67 


ing-  like  phantoms  beyond  the  horizon,  and  along 
the  restless  sea  shadows  everywhere  fighting 
the  cold  lights  falling  from  moon  and  stars  to 
pierce  and  scatter  them.  The  eerie  sense  of  the 
lonely,  ancient  ocean,  soon  grew  predominant. 
The  present  life  became  faint;  they  began  to 
talk  solemnly  of  things  beyond  it.  And  it  is 
such  subjects  that  unlock  the  hearts  of  men,  and 
make  them  free  of  each  other's  best  nature  ;  for 
very  few  are  as  irreligious  as  they  appear  to  be. 

Donald  was  touched  by  confidence  so  freely 
given  him  by  a  man  many  years  his  senior,  and 
who  had  proved  his  manhood  by  conquering 
poverty  and  ignorance  and  taking  his  place 
among  the  nobles  and  law-givers  of  his  age.  In 
return,  he  felt  that  he  must  be  equally  frank,  but 
there  was  nothing  in  his  young  life  that 
appeared  worth  talking  about  but  Roberta 
Balfour. 

"  My  days  had  been  spent  in  study  and  play,** 
he  said,  "  until  I  met  her.  She  discovered  my 


68  Undercurrents. 

soul  to  me.  It  is  only  about  two  months  old,  I 
think." 

"  Do  you  think  that  ?  Oh,  no,  Donald  !  If 
you  have  really  thought  on  that  subject,  you 
must  feel  that  your  soul  is  older  than  any  reck 
oning.  It  had  no  age  when  it  was  incarnated. 
It  will  have  no  age  when  it  shall  free  itself  from 
your  mortal  vesture.  It  mwi\\  not  grow  old  in 
eternity.  But  let  us  sail  as  far  as  Ellerloch.  I 
would  like  to  see  this  girl  you  love  so  dearly. 
Is  she  handsome  ?" 

"  I  think  so  ;  but  when  one  discovers  the  soul, 
the  body  is  not  much.  It  is  Roberta  I  love,  and 
yet  I  am  not  indifferent  to  the  sweetness  of  her 
voice,  the  charm  of  her  bright  face,  and  the 
grace  of  all  her  motions.  Oh,  no  J  Altogether 
she  is  perfect.  You  will  agree  with  me,  I  am 
sure." 

"And  her  father?" 

Donald's  face  fell  a  little. 

"  He  is  a  good  man,  I  believe  that ;  but  he  is 
quiet  and  grave,  and,  I  think,  a  little  stern  ;  more 


Undercurrents.  69 ' 

so  lately  than  when  I  first  knew  him.  I  am  sure 
that  he  understands  that  I  love  Roberta." 

"  You  ought  to  speak  to  him,  Donald.  Set 
your  love  in  a  clear  atmosphere — the  sanction  of 
earth  and  heaven  —  that  is  what  it  asks,  and 
ought  to  have." 

"  Yes,  but  I  am  afraid  to  speak.  Did  I  tell 
you  that  Mr.  Balfour  was  a  Protestant  minister 
• — a  Free-Kirk  minister?" 

"No.  A  Free-Kirk  minister  and  a  Scotch 
Lowlander.  Oh,  Donald,  I  think  that  will  com 
plicate  matters  very  much.  I  know  the  type : 
ruggedly  conscientious  and  immovable  as  the 
Bass  Rock  about  a  principle.  Balfour  is  a  name 
among  their  worthies.  Possibly  he  is  of  Cove, 
nanting  stock ;  and  if  so,  he  looks  upon  the 
Shorter  Catechism  as  the  pillar  of  immortal 
salvation  and  the  Magna  Charta  of  Scotland's 
safety  and  prosperity.  Does  he  know  that  you 
are  a  Roman  Catholic  ?" 

"  I  am  not  sure.  I  have  not  told  him,  and  he 
is  only  a  stranger  in  Ross.  Four  years  ago  he 


70  Undercurrents. 

came  from  Galloway.  In  his  own  rough  boun 
daries,  among  the  shepherds  and  fishers,  he  is 
almost  worshiped.  He  is  a  better  sailor  than 
many  of  them  ;  he  is  a  good  fisher ;  he  is  a 
learned  scholar.  Roberta  says  he  is  an  eloquent 
preacher.  I  never  heard  him,  but  I  know  that 
he  is  a  good  pastor  and  no  mean  physician.  His 
people  rely  on  him  for  help  in  all  their  sickness 
and  in  all  their  sorrow." 

"  He  is  a  wonderful  man,  Donald.  What  is  he 
doing  in  an  obscure  Highland  parish?" 

"  Oh,  indeed !  Maclane,  it  is  the  obscure 
parishes  that  need  the  wonderful  men.  Look  at 
Father  Contach  !  He  ought  to  be  a  bishop,  and 
he  is  content  to  be  a  priest  of  Torquil.  Don't 
you  think  that  a  poor  country  priest  fighting 
against  the  devil  in  his  parish  has  a  nobler  and  a 
harder  fight  than  Alexander  had?" 

"  No  one  can  gainsay  you,  Donald.  But  it  is 
the  part  of  honor  as  well  as  of  duty  and  pru 
dence  to  speak  plainly  to  Mr.  Balfour.  Roberta 


Undercurrents .  7 1 

is  his  only  child ;  if  he  loves  her  he  will  surely 
sacrifice  his  prejudices  to  make  her  happy." 

"  She  is  very  dear  to  him.  Will  you  really  go 
as  far  as  Ellerloch  and  see  him  ?  You  could  say 
much  for  me  that  I  cannot  say  for  myself.  Then, 
when  you  have  prepared  the  way,  I,  also,  will 
speak." 

The  proposal  was  not  unpleasant  to  Maclane. 
He  was  happy  at  sea.  He  liked  Donald's 
society  ;  and  he  was  glad  of  an  opportunity  to 
bind  the  young  man  to  him  by  some  such  ser 
vice.  For  his  own  heart  was  set  upon  Sara  Tor- 
quil,  and  he  was  accustomed  to  compass  all  his 
desires  by  careful  attention  to  every  favorable 
ally. 

The  weather  was  not  unpleasant.  There  was 
a  young  moon  riding  cold  and  still  beyond  the 
shifting  clouds,  and  there  was  a  bright  starlight. 
In  the  gray  glimmer  they  sat  and  talked,  while 
the  Sea  Bird  kept  gallantly  on  .her  northern 
course.  Just  when  there  was  a  streak  of  lemon 
in  the  east,  Donald  sighted  the  low,  gray  manse 


7  2  Undercurrents. 

at  Ellerloch.  Maclane  was  asleep ;  but  the 
lover's  heart  and  longing  had  kept  him  awake. 

Simple  as  Mr.  Balfour's  life  was,  it  was 
scarcely  possible  to  call  upon  him  before  break 
fast;  and,  indeed,  Donald  hoped  he  would  see 
the  boat,  and  come  to  the  pier  and  ask  them  to 
take  the  meal  with  him.  He  had  frequently 
done  so  in  the  beginning  of  their  friendship ; 
and,  although  lately  the  kindness  had  been  gen 
erally  omitted,  Donald  never  could  get  over 
the  hope  of  its  renewal. 

Balfour  saw  the  boat.  Its  fluttering  flag  was 
the  first  thing  that  met  his  eyes  when  he  rose. 
The  sight  was  evidently  not  one  that  gave  the 
minister  pleasure.  His  strong,  rugged  face 
grew  as  hard  as  if  it  were  carved  out  of  granite. 
But  a  great  nicety  about  his  raiment  was  one  of 
David  Balfour's  characteristics,  and  this  morn 
ing  he  did  not  neglect  it  He  brushed  every 
speck  of  dust  from  his  decent  black  coat,  and 
threw  aside  one  set  of  lawn  neckbands  because 
they  fell  short  of  the  immaculate  whiteness  he 


Undercurrents.  73 

demanded.  But  it  was  pride  in  office,  rather 
than  personal  pride  which  made  him  so  exacting. 
He  was  a  servant  of  the  King  of  Kings,  and  he 
felt  that  it  behooved  him  to  be  pure  in  person  as 
in  heart.  Yet  he  was  much  disturbed  as  he  pro 
ceeded  with  his  toilet.  His  lips  parted  continu 
ally  in  short  ejaculations,  regrets,  resolves  and 
quotations  from  The  Book. 

"  I  have  always  heard  that  to  save  a  stranger 
from  the  sea  was  to  bring  calamity  on  one's  own 
house.  It's  like  it !  What  for  did  I  go  to  the 
help  of  yonder  youth  ?  He  was  neither  kith  nor 
kin  of  mine.  Think  shame  of  yourself,  David 
Balfour !  A  man  in  trouble  is  more  than  kith  or 
kin.  If  I  have  done  foolishly,  God  save  me 
from  the  harvest  of  my  folly.  My  trust  is  in  the 
Hope  of  Israel,  the  Saviour  thereof  in  all  times 
of  trouble — what  for  am  I  thinking  of  trouble? 
A  young  man's  fancy  and  a  young  girl's  dream ; 
that  is  all  of  the  argument.  But  it  is  time  it  was 
settled,  and  I'll  settle  it  this  very  day,  and  then 


Undercurrents. 


I'll  have  neither  word  nor  wittens  of  the  matter 
again." 

To  such  musings  he  deliberately  dressed  him 
self,  neither  omitting  nor  hurrying  any  of  his 
usual  duties.  When  he  entered  the  parlor,  his 
heart  felt  that  sudden  glow  of  pious  gratitude 
which  every  one  experiences  more  or  less  in  the 
actual  presence  of  pleasant  and  comfortable  sur 
roundings.  The  fire  was  a  picture  in  itself.  It 
was  in  an  old-fashioned  basket-grate,  glowing 
and  blazing  and  crackling  high  up  above  a 
hearth-stone  pipe-clayed  white  as  snow.  The 
brass  fender  and  irons,  the  bright  rug,  the  round 
table  so  prettily  laid,  the  delicious  smell  of 
broiled  salmon  and  hot  cakes  and  good  coffee — 
the  general  air  of  comfort  and  refinement,  filled 
his  soul  with  a  sweet  and  gracious  gratitude. 
The  household  Bible  lay  open  upon  its  stand 
near  his  own  chair.  He  went  straight  to  it,  and 
put  his  hand  upon  it,  and  said,  softly : 

"  Bless  the  Lord,  oh,  my  soul ;  and  all  that  is 
within  me,  bless  His  holy  Name !" 


Undercurrents.  75 


He  was  reciting  the  thanksgiving  psalm  when 
Roberta  entered  the  room.  Hearing  her  foot 
step  he  finished  it,  and  then  turned  to  meet  her. 
Never  had  her  beauty  struck  him  so  forcibly  ; 
perhaps  it  was  at  this  moment  that  he  first  real 
ized  how  beautiful  she  was.  Evidently  she,  also, 
had  seen  the  Sea  Bird.  She  had  put  on  her  best 
dress,  a  dark-blue  cloth  one,  with  a  plain,  ample 
skirt,  a  tightly-fitting  bodice,  and  narrow  bands 
of  white  linen  at  the  throat  and  wrists.  She 
needed  no  ornaments ;  gold  bracelets  and 
brooches  and  rings  would  have  been  "  barbaric 
gold "  on  such  an  incarnation  of  vital  beauty. 
She  had  the  dew  of  her  youth,  the  glow  of  the 
fresh,  salt  air,  a  color  that  no  words  can  describe, 
an  air  of  happiness,  of  freedom,  ol  grace,  that 
imparted  itself  like  an  atmosphere  to  the  room 
as  soon  as  she  stood  within  it. 

"  Good-morning,  father.  Here  is  the  Sea  Bird 
again." 

"  I  have  seen  it,  Roberta." 
l     "  Are  y»u  not  glad,  father  ?" 


76  Undercurrents. 

"  You  will  be  able  to  take  care  of  yourself 
with  that  young  man,  Roberta  ?  It  is  little  we 
know  of  him;  and  I  am  not  caring  to  know 
more." 

"  Father !" 

"  One  will  require  to  act  judiciously,  Roberta, 
with  a  person  coming  north  with  every  wind 
that  blows.  He'll  be  having  a  reason,  and  when 
a  guest  comes  with  a  reason,  there  will  be  two 
sides  to  it,  and  we  must  watch  for  our  own  side. 
That  is  only  prudent  and  right,  Roberta." 

"  You  have  been  having  bad  dreams,  father,  or 
you  have  a  touch  of  rheumatism,  or  there  has 
been  an  evil  spirit  in  your  sleeping-room  whis 
pering  bad,  suspicious  thoughts  in  your  ear 
while  you  were  sleeping.  I  never  heard  a  more 
unkind  observation  from  you." 

"  Answer  me  this — answer  me  this,  Roberta : 
Whom  does  young  Torquil  come  here  to  see? 
Is  it  I,  or  is  it  you  ?" 

"  How  can  I  tell  ?" 

"  Let  us  have  no  prevarication.     II  you  were 


Undercurrents.  77 

not  here,  do  you  think  the  Sea  Bird  would 
come  to  Ellerlock  again?  Tell  me  the  truth, 
Roberta." 

"She  might  not  come  so  often.** 

"  She  would  not  come  at  alL** 

"  I  think  Donald  does  like  me.*' 

"  You  know  well  he  likes  you.  Why  think  or 
suppose  about  the  thing  you  are  sure  of  ?  Very 
well — or  very  ill,  more  likely — why  does  he 
not  speak  to  me,  as  an  honest  man  should,  and 
say :  '  I  want  to  marry  your  daughter,  sir ;  and 
I  have  thus  and  so,  to  warrant  my  offer  ?'  Why 
does  he  not  tell  me  who  and  what  he  is?  If 
he  wants  to  marry  you,  that  is  the  way  an 
honest  man  would  do  it." 

"  Father,  people  do  not  bargain  about  wives, 
as  they  used  to  do.  Money  questions  are  not  to 
be  mixed  up  with  love." 

"  You  are  very  much  mistaken,  Roberta. 
What  do  you  know  about  love  and  marriage? 
Money  questions,  in  one  shape  or  other,  are  at 
the  foundation  of  marriage.  An  honest  lover 


78  Undercurrents. 

lays  this  foundation  with  the  father  before  he 
talks  love  with  the  daughter.  If  the  founda- 
tion  is  solid,  you  may  build  upon  it  all  the 
air-castles  you  fancy.  I  am  not  pleased  at 
Donald  Torquil's  ways.  I'll  say  that  plump  and 
plain.  And  he  will  have  to  mend  them  if  he 
would  keep  his  welcome  warm." 

"  Do  you  not  think  that  fathers  can  be  too 
cautious  ?  Age  and  experience  may  not  know 
everything.  I  speak  respectfully,  father." 

"  Whoever  said  that  age  and  experience  knew 
everything  ?  You  will  allow,  though,  that  it  is 
very  likely  fifty-five  years  may  know  more 
than  eighteen  years  ?" 

"Father,  we  have  not  had  a  nice  breakfast, 
and  it  is  your  fault ;  I  was  so  happy  when  I  saw 
the  Sea  Bird.  After  the  exercise  do  go  and 
meet  Donald.  If  you  have  had  a  temptation  in 
the  night,  give  it  the  back  of  your  hand  behind 
you.  Donald  is  a  good  young  man  ;  good  and 
true.  Go  and  meet  him  kindly.  It  is  beginning 


Undercurrents.  79 

to  rain,  and  we  may  have  a  storm.  You  cannot 
shut  your  door  against  him,  father." 

"  Well,  well !  I  see,  Roberta,  that  you  have 
aried  your  heart  to  him  ;  but  you'll  mind  this  : 
If  I  find  out  that  he  is  not  a  good  youth,  if  he  is 
not  fit  to  be  your  husband,  I  will  not  allow  him 
to  speak  another  word  to  you.  That  is  as  fact 
as  death.  I'll  no  need  to  say  it  again." 

Then  he  arose  and  called  in  his  household, 
and  read  the  appointed  portion,  and  sang  the 
proper  psalm,  and  prayed  with  an  unfaltering 
faith  and  fervor.  His  eyes  were  shining  and 
moist  when  he  rose  from  his  knees,  and  he 
spoke  kindly  to  Roberta,  as  i'.e  put  on  his 
plaid  and  hat,  and  went  down  to  the  sea 
shore. 

The  clouds  had  fallen  low,  and  were  beating 
themselves  against  the  earth  in  those  whiffs  of 
sharp  rain  so  common  on  the  west  coast ;  and 
Roberta  knew  the  cabin  of  the  Sea  Bird  would 
be  damp  and  uncomfortable.  "  Then  father  will 
be  sorry  for  Donald,"  she  thought,  "and  he  will 


8o  Undercurrents. 

bring  him  here ;  and  I  know  that  I  may  expect 
them  in  half  an  hour  at  any  rate." 

In  much  less  time  she  saw  them  coming,  and 
perceived  also  with  some  curiosity  that  they 
were  accompanied  by  a  stranger.  "  He  looks 
far  older  than  Donald ;  perhaps  he  is  Donald's 
father  ;"  and  she  put  more  fuel  on  the  fire,  and 
flecked  the  last  speck  of  dust  from  the  hearth, 
and  ran  up-stairs  to  see  if  her  own  hair  and  collar 
were  in  perfect  order.  By  that  time,  the  three 
gentlemen  were  in  the  small  hall,  and  she  went 
to  meet  them  with  the  flush  and  light  of  welcome 
on  her  face. 

Greatly  to  her  surprise  and  pleasure,  she  per 
ceived  that  her  father  had  some  knowledge  of 
Mr.  Maclane.  They  had  become  friends  at  once, 
and  were  soon  so  deeply  interested  in  their  own 
conversation  that  Donald  easily  slipped  away 
irom  them  to  Roberta,  who  was  in  a  small,  light 
pantry  making  the  pastry  for  the  day's  dinner. 

"  Father  appears  delighted  to  meet  your 
friend,  Donald.  Are  they  old  acquaintances?" 


Undercurrents*  8 1 

"  Politically  so.  Maclane,  who  is  a  Member 
of  Parliament,  wrote  a  pamphlet  in  favor  of  the 
Scotch  church,  when  she  was  in  the  thick  of  her 
late  fight  with  the  government ;  a  very  clever 
pamphlet,  indeed,  Mr.  Balfour  thinks.  Fancy 
Maclane  writing  a  pamphlet,  or  bothering  him 
self  about  church  government,  with  all  else  he 
has  to  do !" 

"  Indeed,  Donald,  church  government  is  a 
very  important  affair.  Father  gave  up  one  of 
the  finest  livings  in  Scotland  on  that  very  ques 
tion.  '  There  is  in  it  all  the  majesty  of  the  Free 
Kirk/  as  somebody  said.  I  hear  they  have  gone 
into  the  study,  and  if  father  begins  to  introduce 
his  friends,  it  may  take  them  all  day  to  get 
through." 

"  Especially  as  Maclane  is  a  great  book-lover 
also.  Oh,  Roberta,  what  a  happy  day  we  are 
going  to  have !" 

For  once  fate  was  kind  to  all.  Mr.  Balfour 
and  Mr.  Maclane  were  in  perfect  harmony.  As 
iron  sharpeneth  iron,  their  minds  caught  light 


82  Undercurrents. 

and  brilliancy  from  contact.  Book  after  book 
was  taken  from  the  wealthy  shelves  and  com- 
mented  upon,  and  though,  in  the  main,  their 
opinions  were  at  one,  there  were  still  differences 
sufficient  to  give  their  conversation  a  brisk  and 
piquant  individuality. 

Such  intellectual  contact  was  a  rare  mental 
treat  to  Mr.  Balfour,  and  he  gave  himself  up 
entirely  to  its  enjoyment ;  yet,  amid  all,  he  had 
a  constant  sense  of  his  responsibility  regarding 
Donald  Torquil  and  his  daughter.  But  if  it  had 
been  difficult  to  speak  hitherto,  it  was  doubly  so 
this  day.  Before  a  stranger  whom  he  honored, 
he  could  scarcely  introduce  a  subject  so  per 
sonal,  and  one  which,  perhaps,  would  have  to 
terminate  in  an  entire  withdrawal  of  his  courtesy 
and  friendship  from  Donald.  Such  hours  of 
mental  refreshment  came  to  him  so  rarely,  he 
could  not  bear  to  mar  their  harmony,  and  he 
resolved  to  suffer  the  relationship  of  the  young 
people  to  go  unchallenged  during  this  visit. 

But  no  man  may  put  back  the  hour  of  fate ; 


Undercurrents.  83 

and  the  knowledge  which  he  had  both  desired 
and  dreaded  was  given  him  in  the  most  uncon 
scious  manner.  It  was  not,  however,  until  the 
visit  was  nearly  over,  and  every  one  of  the  party 
had  appreciated  the  enjoyment  of  thirty  hours 
of  such  serene  and  innocent  pleasure  as  rarely 
comes  to  mortals.  Balfour  and  Mr.  Maclane 
had  expressed  their  different  views  on  all  their 
favorite  topics,  and  Donald  and  Roberta  had 
assured  themselves,  in  many  a  sweet  way,  how 
unanimous  their  opinions  were  on  the  one  only 
topic  that  filled  their  hearts.  They  had  all 
enjoyed  Roberta's  excellent  cooking,  they  had 
sung  some  old  songs  together,  and  together  felt 
the  calm  of  the  evening  exercise  ;  and  by  thus 
mingling  the  joys  of  sense  and  soul,  had  tasted 
the  purest  cup  of  happiness. 

Sweet  sleep  and  a  calm  breakfast  followed  the 
pleasant  day,  and  about  ten  o'clock  they  rose  to 
depart  The  sky  was  clear,  the  wind  at  their 
back,  and  the  sea  had  been  beaten  smooth  by 
the  heavy  rain. 


84  Undercurrents. 

"  We  shall  make  a  quick  trip  home,"  said 
Donald,  his  spirits  insensibly  rising,  as  he 
thought  of  the  lively  Sea  Bird  flying  before  the 
wind. 

He  had  Roberta's  hand  clasped  in  his  own, 
and  they  were  walking  slowly  together  across 
the  shingle  to  the  small  pier.  Mr.  Balfour  and 
Maclane  were  a  little  behind  them.  They  were 
a  trifle  quiet  and  sad. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  leave  you  so  soon,  Balfour, 
but  I  shall  never  forget  the  day  I  spent  with 
you." 

"  Shall  I  not  see  you  again  before  you  go  to 
southward?" 

"  Not  this  year.  My  visit  to  Sir  Rolfe  Tor- 
quii  is  over ;  but  it  is  likely  I  may  rent  a  shoot 
ing-range  from  him  next  year." 

"  Then  Donaid's  father  is  a  nobleman  ?" 

"  Has  he  not  told  you  so  ?  That  is  like 
Donald.  Anything  that  would  look  like  boast 
ing  would  be  hateful  to  him.  He  is  a  fine 
fellow." 


Undercurrents.  85 

"  Still  he  should  have  told  me.  I  have  a 
daughter — you  see  that  he  has  won  her  love ; 
a  baronet  may  think  his  son  too  noble  for 
her!" 

"  Miss  Balfour  outranks  any  man,  I  care  not 
what  his  station." 

"  I  surely  think  so.  She  is  the  daughter  of 
one  of  God's  ministers,  and  he  is  king  of  kings. 
I  have  never  heard  Donald  speak  of  brothers; 
is  he  the  only  son  ?" 

"  The  only  son,  and  the  heir.  At  present  they 
are  not  rich,  but  the  estate  is  large,  and  can  be 
made  very  profitable  under  the  new  method. 
The  family  is  a  very  old  one  ;  the  Torquils  have 
been  in  Ross  '  since  the  floods  whateffer,'  as  one 
of  their  gillies  told  me." 

"  I  have  no  skill  in  these  Highland  geneal 
ogies,  and  I  am  a  stranger  in  Ross." 

"They  have  held  their  own  well.  I  suppose 
their  isolation  has  saved  them,  for  they  have 
been  a  restless  lot.  It  took  Culloden  to  cure 
them." 


86  Undercurrents. 

"  Culloden  cured  many  restless,  troublesome 
families.  They  were  for  the  Stuarts,  then  ?" 

"  Rank  Jacobites.  It  was  a  matter  of  con 
science  with  them.  The  Stuarts  represented 
Catholicism,  so  they  fought  for  the  Stuarts.  As 
a  race,  they  considered  them  far  from  being 
'  pretty  fellows.'  The  Torquils  were  too  rug 
gedly  brave  and  honest  for  any  other  opinion." 

"Then  they  are  Roman  Catholics?  They  are 
Roman  Catholics  at  the  present  time  ?  Donald 
Torquil  is  a  Roman  Catholic  ?  Do  you  mean  to 
tell  me  these  things  are  so  ?"  He  spoke  with  a 
stern  decision,  and  stood  still,  and  looked 
squarely  into  Maclane's  face  for  the  answer. 

"  Certainly,  sir.  Donald  is  a  very  devout 
Catholic.  Without  pretense  or  demonstration, 
I  yet  consider  him  a  sincerely  religious  young 
man.  The  fact  has  struck  me  very  pleasantly. 
It  is  a  rare  characteristic  in  young  men  now." 

"  I  am  very  sorry.     Very  sorry,  indeed." 

"  Sorry  that  the  young  man  is  religious  ?" 

"That  he  is  a  Roman  Catholic.      You  must 


Under  cu  rren  is.  87 

understand  this  information  means  a  heart-break 
to  my  Roberta.  He  ought  to  have  told  us — he 
ought  to  have  told  us !  He  has  behaved  very 
badly.  I  will  not  speak  to  him  again.  I  cannot 
speak  now.  Permit  me  to  say  farewell  to  you 
here,  and  make  what  apology  you  please  for  me. 
I  will  not  see  the  young  man  now.  I  must  think 
over  the  matter.  It  is  a  great  blow  to  me,  sir." 
He  showed  it  so  plainly,  Maclane  understood 
the  wisdom  of  his  resolve.  He  had  lost  every 
vestige  of  color;  his  eyes  were  somber  and 
troubled;  he  could  scarcely  command  his  voice. 
For  a  moment  or  two,  they  stood  saying  the  few 
courteous  words  that  were  all  they  could  say 
under  the  circumstances.  Donald  and  Roberta 
had  gone  on  board ;  they  were  so  interested  in 
themselves  they  had  forgotten  their  companions. 
'Mr.  Balfour  pointed  out  this  fact,  and  turned 
away  with  an  angry  dejection,  a  look  of  mingled 
reproach,  fear  and  sorrow,  such  as  Maclane  had 
never  before  seen,  and  which  he  knew  he  should 
never  forget. 


88  Undercurrents. 

The  wretched  father  went  straight  to  his 
home.  He  was  angry  when  he  parted  with 
Maclane  ;  his  anger  gathered  with  every  moment 
of  Roberta's  stay ;  and  she  lingered  something 
longer  than  was  necessary.  The  fresh  wind,  the 
bright  morning,  the  presence  of  Donald,  all 
tempted  her  to  delay.  She  also  grieved  that 
her  father  should,  for  any  reason,  omit  the  last 
courtesy  to  Donald.  Maclane,  scarcely  know 
ing  how  to  excuse  him,  had  blundered  out  some 
thing  concerning  a  forgotten  engagement — a 
thing  Roberta  did  not  believe  in.  So,  partly  as 
a  compensation  to  her  lover,  and  partly  as  a 
symptom  of  disapproval  to  her  father,  she  stayed 
upon  the  Sea  Bird  until  Mr.  Balfour  was  well 
minded  to  put  on  his  hat  and  plaid  and  go  and 
bring  her  home. 

At  this  climax  of  his  anger  and  impatience, 
she  returned.  He  saw  she  had  been  crying ; 
that  she  was  inclined  to  be  silent  and  indiffer 
ent  ;  that,  in  short,  all  her  fine  spirits  and  sunny 
smiles  and  pretty  ways  had  disappeared  with 


Undercurrents.  89 

Donald,  and  he  naturally  enough  resented  the 
secondary  place  to  which  he  had  fallen. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Roberta?" 

"  Nothing,  father." 

"  Why  have  you  then  altered  so  much  ?  You 
were  gay  enough  an  hour  ago." 

"  Circumstances  have  changed,  father." 

"  You  mean  that  Donald  Torquil  is  no  longer 
here  to  be  charmed  ?" 

"  Donald  was  badly  treated.  Why  did  you 
not  come  fifty  yards  further  and  say  good-bye 
to  him  ?  I  was  ashamed  of  you,  father ;  and  I 
never  was  ashamed  of  you  before." 

"  Never  dare  to  say  such  words  to  me  again, 
Roberta.  When  it  is  a  question  between  a 
father  and  a  lover,  a  good  girl  will  believe  her 
father  to  be  right  until  she  knows  he  is  wrong. 
You  have  known  me  all  your  life — known  me 
intimately ;  you  have  known  this  youth  a  few 
weeks,  and  that  only  very  slightly — whom 
should  you  trust  first?" 


90  Undercurrents. 

14  I  hate  that  Maclane.  I  am  sure  he  has  told 
you  some  wicked  lies  about  Donald." 

"  He  told  me  that,  which  if  Donald  Torquil 
had  been  a  gentleman,  he  himself  had  told  me 
long  ago.  He  told  me  that  Donald  is  a  Roman 
Catholic ;  that  his  family  have  always  been 
Roman  Catholics — Jacobites  and  Roman  Catho 
lics  !  Followers  of  the  bloody  Stuarts,  and  all 
their  tyrannies  and  abominations !" 

"  The  Stuarts  are  dead  and  gone,  all  of  them. 
Is  Donald  to  be  hated  for  his  ancestors  ?" 

"  Yes,  he  is  !  If  a  man  is  to  be  honored  for 
his  ancestors,  just  and  right  also  is  it  that  he 
should  be  hated  for  them.  Because  of  what  my 
ancestors  did  for  the  Covenant  I  have  honor 
this  day.  Because  of  what  Donald's  ancestors 
did  against  freedom  and  the  kirk  of  Scotland,  he 
shall  have  scaith  and  dishonor  this  day.  Both 
conclusions  are  just.  If  the  fathers  eat  sour 
grapes,  then  the  teeth  of  the  children  must  be 
set  on  edge.  It  is  the  word  of  the  Lord,  and  I 
trust  that  neither  I  nor  bairn  of  mine  will  dare 


Undercurrents.  91 


to  set  themselves  against  the  ways  of  the 
Almighty's  council." 

"What  is  your  meaning,  father?  Say  the 
straight  word  to  me.  I  do  not  want  to  hear 
Donald  preached  about." 

"Do  you  want  the  straight,  plain  word  ? 
You  shall  have  it.  It  is  that  you  neither  shall 
see  nor  speak  more  with  that  young  reprobate." 

"  Father !  Can  your  word  make  any  one 
reprobate  ?" 

"  I  ask  God's  pardon.  I  know  not  that  he  is 
yet  reprobate.  It  may  be  that  His  mercy  will 
yet  call  the  lad.  But  until  then  you  shall 
neither  see  him  nor  speak  with  him  nor  write  to 
him.  If  he  had  every  perfection  under  the  blue 
heaven  and  was  a  Roman  Catholic,  he  should 
not  have  you  for  his  wife.  No,  by  the  Solemn 
League  and  the  Holy  Covenant,  he  should 
not !" 

" '  Though  I  speak  with  the  tongues  of  men 
and  angels,  though  1  have  the  gift  of  prophecy, 
and  understand  all  mysteries  and  all  knowledge, 


"92  Undercurrents. 

though  I  have  all  faith  so  that  I  could  remove 
mountains,  and  have  not  charity,  I  am  nothing.' 
They  are  not  my  words,  father,  and  you  need 
not  be  angry  at  me  for  them." 

"You  are  quoting  Scripture,  as  women 
always  quote  it,  clean  beside  the  mark.  Go  to 
your  own  room,  Miss  Balfour,  and  consider 
your  words  and  your  ways ;  for  mind  this : 
Nothing,  nothing,  nothing  shall  ever  make  me 
give  a  father's  welcome  to  Donald  Torquil ! 
Do  you  think  1  am  going  to  give  the  Torquils  a 
chance  to  count  the  Balfour  martyrs  and  con 
fessors  among  their  old  papistical,  paternoster- 
ing  ancestors?  I  am  not  that  wicked,  I  hope." 

"  But,  father—" 

"  Go  your  ways  into  solitude,  and  think  shame 
of  yourself,  Miss  Balfour.  I  have  no  other 
word  to  say  to  you  at  this  hour." 


CHAPTER  V. 

SARA'S  LOVER. 

f 

*  I  have  seen  the  desire  of  mine  eyes, 

The  beginning  of  love,  ''  <• 

The  season  of  kisses  and  sighs. 

And  the  end  thereof."  » 

*  *  *  *  *  *  * 

"  Mother  most  tender,  help  thy  poor  child. 
Haste  with  thy  succor,  Maid  undefiled ! 
Amiable  Mother,  stainless  and  fair, 
Take  a  fair  creature  into  thy  care  !" 

"Now  for  a  dance  before  the  wind,"  said 
Donald,  and  he  laid  his  hand  ^upon  the  anchor 
chain,  and,  with  a  boy's  help,  brought  it  aboard, 
hand  over  hand.  Then  the  Sea  Bird  went  flying 
down  the  Minch,  ducking  and  plunging  to  the 
short  rollers.  Her  sails  were  wet  with  the 
spray  showers,  and  the  wind  pressed  her  almost 


94  Saras  Lover. 


like  a  solid  wall — the  keen  life-laden  wind  of  the 
wild  North  Sea — while  Maclane  and  Donald 
experienced  an  exultation  no  one  can  understand 
who  has  not  felt  the  glorious  sense  of  freedom 
and  power,  that  managing-  a  boat  with  a  brisk 
breeze  and  a  high  sea  can  give. 

The  two  men  were  smoking,  both  sensible  of 
the  cheering,  inspiring  air  about  them,  and  yet 
both  a  little  thoughtful  and  silent.  Donald  had 
noticed  the  return  of  Mr.  Balfour,  and  his  heart 
had  experienced  one  of  those  sudden  premoni 
tions  of  coming  evil,  which  the  wisest  are  unable 
to  reason  away.  He  waited  a  little  to  see  if 
Maclane  would  offer  any  explanation  of  the  cir 
cumstance,  but  as  he  did  not  do  so,  Donald 
abruptly  made  the  inquiry  : 

"  Why  did  Mr.  Balfour  return  home  without 
bidding  me  good-bye  ?" 

"  We  had  been  talking  of  you  and  your  family, 
and  I  inadvertently  alluded  to  its  religion  and 
politics." 

"  Was  he  angry  at  my  religion  ?" 


Saras  Lover.  95 


"  At  your  concealment  of  it  he  was  angry." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  have  made  me  a  great  sor 
row,  Maclane." 

"  There  is  always  sorrow  in  deception,  Donald. 
At  the  first,  you  ought  to  have  made  all  clear. 
When  you  sit  day  after  day  on  a  man's  hearth 
stone  and  win  his  daughter,  he  has  a  right  to 
know  exactly  what  and  who  you  are.  Why  did 
you  not  tell  him  ?  The  night  that  he  saved  you 
from  the  sea  and  asked  you  to  his  home  was 
your  fortunate  hour.  If  then  he  had  continued 
his  courtesy,  he  could  not  have  blamed  you  ;  if, 
on  the  contrary,  he  had  made  you  understand 
then  that  your  faith  and  family  were  insuperable 
objections  to  friendship,  you,  at  that  time,  could 
have  easily  resigned  yourself  to  a  disappoint 
ment  about  Roberta  Balfour/" 

"  No  ;  I  could  not.  In  the  very  first  hour  of 
our  meeting,  it  would  have  been  impossible  to 
resign  her.  I  hoped  to  win  both  father  and 
daughter-  so  entirely  that  my  family  and  faith — 
both  accidents  of  birth  for  which  I  am  not 


96  Saras  Lover. 

responsible — would  be  accepted  with  me.  How 
could  I  imagine  they  would  be  less  tolerant  than 
myself  ?" 

"Then  you  know  nothing  of  the  Lowland 
Scots.  They  are  all  intense  theologians.  Mat 
ters  of  church  discipline  and  government  are 
articles  of  their  salvation,  and  there  is  not  one  of 
them  who  would  not  go  to  the  stake  for  his  own 
particular  views  on  the  subject.  This  very  Mr. 
Baltour  gave  up  one  of  the  richest  churches  in 
Scotland  for  a  quibble  in  the  ecclesiastical  court 
affecting  the  spiritual  authority  of  the  kirk  only ; 
and,  though  a  man  of  good  family  and  profound 
scholarship,  preferred  an  isolated  parish  among 
illiterate  peasants,  with  his  principles,  to  a 
wealthy,  cultivated  one,  with  some  one's  else 
principles." 

"  But  what  have  theology  and  church  govern 
ment  to  do  with  my  love  for  Roberta  ?" 

"  You  will  find  that  they  have  a  great  deal  to 
do  with  it.  You  will  have  to  give  up  Roberta 
Balfour,  I  am  sure." 


Sara's  Lover.  97 

"  Never.  She  may  give  me  up.  I  shali  never, 
never  resign  her." 

"  I  cannot  understand  why  a  young  man  so 
candid  as  you  are,  did  not  at  the  first  tell  Mr. 
Balfour  your  real  social  standing.  It  was 
scarcely  honorable.  He  has  a  right  to  feel  hurt 
at  you." 

"  No ;  you  cannot  understand  a  lover's  fears 
and  doubts  and  hesitations  ;  his  desire  to  let  well 
alone ;  his  dread  of  explanations ;  his  preference 
for  a  delicious  uncertainty,  not  devoid  of  hope, 
to  a  positive  position,  which  might  be  one  of 
despair.  Nor  can  you  understand,  perhaps, 
that  I  might  wish  to  woo  and  win  Roberta  as  a 
simple  gentleman.  Women  are  very  much 
influenced  by  position  and  by  title;  I  wanted 
Roberta  to  accept  Donald  Torquil ;  when  she 
had  done  so,  I  intended  to  tell  her  what 
social  advantages  I  could  give  her  with  my 
name." 

"  You  reasoned  like  a  romantic,  inexperienced 
young  man," 


98  Sarcts  Lover. 

"  It  takes  a  lover  to  understand  a  lover,"  said 
Donald,  and  he  spoke  with  some  irritation. 

Maclane  looked  at  him  kindly,  and  for  a 
moment  there  was  a  shadow  of  uncertainty  in 
his  manner;  then  he  said: 

"Come  into  the  cabin,  Donald;  I  want  to 
tell  you  something;  and  the  swash  of  the  sea, 
and  the  wind  blowing  the  waves,  make  talking 
difficult.  Now  we  are  more  comfortable.  You 
say  it  takes  a  lover  to  understand  a  lover — well, 
then,  I  am  far  more  deeply  in  love  than  you  are. 
A  boy  of  twenty-two  can  only  love  like  a  boy  of 
twenty-two;  a  man  of  forty  loves  with  a 
strength  and  passion  that  only  a  matured  soul 
can  nourish." 

"  I  might  have  known  it.  Who  could  see 
Roberta  and  not — " 

"It  is  not  Roberta;  be  easy,  quite  easy,  on 
that  ground.  I  shall  never  be  your  rival.  It  is 
Miss  Torquil  that  I  love.  All  other  women 
seem  to  me  plain  and  colorless  beside  heiY 

"Sara?" 


Saras  Lover.  99 

"  Yes,  she  is  the  one  woman  I  have  ever 
desired.  When  you  have  exhausted  words  in 
describing  Roberta  Balfour,  I  would  not  have 
found  a  sentence  worthy  of  your  sister.  In  my 
case,  also,  it  was  a  love  born  perfect.  The  first 
moment  I  saw  Miss  Torquil,  I  was  as  much 
enthralled  as  I  am  at  this  hour;  because  I  loved 
her  then  with  every  capacity  of  my  nature. 
Now,  I  did  at  once  what  you  ought  to  have 
done.  I  asked  on  the  second  day  of  my  visit 
for  an  interview  with  Sir  Rolfe.  I  said  to  him : 
*  Sir,  I  love  Miss  Torquil.  I  can  never  love  her 
more  or  love  her  less  than  I  do  now.  I  desire 
to  marry  her.  I  can  give  her  such  and  such 
advantages.  I  will  settle  upon  her  absolutely 
such  and  such  money  and  property.' " 

"  And  what  did  my  father  say  ?" 

"  He  answered  :  '  Mr.  Maclane,  1  am  obliged 
by  your  confidence.  I  shall  be  glad  to  give  you 
my  daughter  if  she  is  willing  to  be  your  wife.' 
I  asked  then  that  he  would  respect  my  con- 


ioo  Sara's  Lover. 

fession.  I  .had  your  sister  to  woo,  but  the  way 
to  her  favor  was  so  far  clear." 

"  And  I  hope,  with  all  my  heart,  that  you  will 
win  Sara." 

"  I  am  not  easily  discouraged,  Donald.  There 
are  nicks  in  time  which  a  man  has  only  to  be 
on  the  watch  for,  and  success  is  in  them.  I  am 
not  fanciful  and  unreasonable.  I  do  not  expect 
Miss  Torquil  to  love  me  after  a  Byronic  or  Tom 
Moore-ish  fashion.  If  I  can  gain  her  respect 
and  friendship,  I  shall  feel  that  I  have  a  noble 
foundation  laid,  and  I  can  trust  her  for  her  love. 
A  good  woman  is  a  generous  and  a  grateful 
woman ;  she  will  give  love  for  love,  if  only  she 
be  sure  of  her  husband's  pure  and  perfect 
devotion  to  her.  That  is  my  theory.  I  can 
trust  it." 

Involuntarily  the  young  man  put  out  his  hand, 
and  the  elder's  closed  upon  it.  Maclane's  face 
was  calm  and  happy  ;  Donald's  eyes  were  shin 
ing  through  tears ;  the  youth  had  not  yet 
learned  to  control  his  emotions,  but  his  com- 


Sards  Lover.  iof 

panion  trusted  and  respected  them.  He  under 
stood  that  this  excess  of  feeling  in  youth  made  a 
tolerant  middle-age  and  a  mellow  old  one. 

"  What  would  you  advise  me  to  do, 
Maclane  ?" 

"  See  Mr.  Balfour  as  soon  as  you  can.  You 
may  not  succeed  in  persuading  or  even  in  paci 
fying  him,  but  it  is  right  for  you  to  try.  Frankly, 
I  do  not  think  you  will  succeed." 

"  Then,  what  ?" 

"  Can  you  give  up  the  girl?" 

"  If  I  give  up  life — not  unless." 

"  There  is  no  such  question,  Donald.  Life  is 
not  yours  to  give  up.  Let  us  avoid  hyperboles. 
Does  Roberta  love  you  ?" 

"  Yes — as  I  love  her." 

"  Then  you  cannot  give  her  up.  You  must 
wait.  Everything  comes  to  those  who  can 
wait." 

"  Would  you  tell  Sir  Rolfe  ?" 

"  There  seems  to  be  no  necessity  to  trouble 
him  with  an  affair  so  very  uncertain.  It  should 


IO2  Saras  Lover. 


be  your  object  to  get  closer  to  your  father,  not 
to  put  another  disagreement  between  you  ;  and 
he  would  certainly  regard  a  marriage  between 
you  and  Roberta  Balfour  as  a  very  great 
trial." 

This  conversation,  varied  and  extended  in  all 
its  points,  filled  with  unceasing  interest  the 
hours  of  their  sail  home.  Near  Erbusaig  they 
were  delayed  by  mist  and  squalls  coming  up 
through  Raasay  Sound,  and  the  Sea  Bird  had  to 
stagger  along  under  double  reef  until  Torquil 
Harbor  was  across  her  bow.  Then  a  long  tack 
had  to  be  made,  so  that  it  was  the  middle  of  the 
morning  when  they  cast  anchor. 

"It  is  my  last  sail  for  some  months,"  said 
Maclane.  "To-morrow  I  must  go  back  to  busi 
ness.  But  I  have  had  a  memorable  holiday, 
Donald,  though  quite  a  different  one  from  what 
1  anticipated." 

"  You  have  taken  the  ocean  instead  of  the 
hills  as  a  restorer." 

"You    must  remember  I   am  an  inland   man, 


Saras  Lover.  icr 

* 


and  when  I  needed  recreation,  the  mountains 
were  the  most  natural  suggestions.  •  But  as  soon 
as  I  saw  the  sea  I  knew  what  I  wanted.  I  must 
buy  a  boat  of  my  own,  Donald,  then  we  can 
have  some  fine  racing.  I  will  write  to  some 
good  builder  about  one  as  soon  as  I  get  home." 

"  Better  by  far  have  it  built  in  Ross.  They 
know  the  kind  of  boat  for  these  seas.  The  Sea 
Bird  will  keep  right  side  up  when  a  fine  fancy 
yacht  will  be  running  wild  and  going  bottom  up 
over  her  crew.  Have  a  Ross  boat  for  Ross 
seas;  in  a  storm  she'll  edge  away  to  windward 
under  a  bit  of  canvas,  and  bring  you  safe  into 
harbor.  Angus  Mackenzie  and  his  father  built 
the  Sea  Bird,  and  we  launched  her  to  a  flowing 
tide,  with  her  prow  foremost.  It  was  Sara  who 
sent  her  off  in  the  old  Gael  fashion.  She  would 
send  yours  off,  too,  I  am  sure,  and  then  she 
would  take  luck  with  her." 

Maclane  smiled.  "  I  should  like  to  see  her  do 
it ;  I  would  believe  in  that  luck." 

'•  I  never  saw  Sara  so  beautiful  as  she  was  on 


IO4  Saras  Lover. 

that  morning  when  we  launched  the  Sea  Bird. 
There  was  a  good  breeze  of  wind,  and  it  flut 
tered  her  dress  and  scarf,  and  she  looked  so  tall 
and  splendid,  that  I  could  not  help  thinking  of 
those  old  Norse  sea-queens  that  we  read  so 
much  about  in  the  sagas — especially  when  she 
stood  far  out  at  the  bow,  and  chanted  the  launch 
charm : 

"  '  from  rocks  and  sands. 
And  barren  lands, 
And  ill  men's  hands, 

Keep  free. 
Well  in,  well  out. 
With  a  good  shout !' 

"And  then  the  wine  was  spilt  and  the  men 
cried,  *  Off !'  and  off  she  went,  dancing  and  cour- 
tesying  like  a  lady." 

"  Very  pleasant ;  we  will  have  another  launch, 
and  Miss  Torquil,  I  hope,  will  be  sea-priestess 
again,  Donald?" 

"  I  hope  so."  The  words  were  said  upon  the 
door-step,  as  Fergus  set  it  wide  open  for  their 
entrance.  He  looked  at  both  Maclane  and 


Sara's  Lover.  105 


Donald  with  disapprobation.  He  understood 
that  Maclane  had  come  to  Torquil  to  shoot ;  he 
regarded  shooting  as  the  recreation  for  gentle- ' 
men.  "Strafaging  about  the  Minch  in  a  small 
poat  wass  not  respectable  whateffer;"  and  he 
felt  hurt  at  Donald  lowering  the  tone  of  their 
visitors  by  decoying  any  one  from  the  hills  to 
the  salt-water. 

"  Sir  Rolfe  hass  peen  seeking  you,  Maistir 
Tonalf,  and  he  wass  saying,  he  will  pe  to  seek 
you,  anywhere  at  all,  between  Torquil  and 
Stornoway.  Ou,  ay,  people  that  will  be  know 
ing,  Maistir  Tonalt,  say,  it  iss  always  the  same 
port  the  Sea  Bird  goes  for ;  they  are  saying  that 
whateffer.  North,  ay,  north ;  I'm  seeing  that 
fine  mysel'." 

"  I  hope  you  have  not  said  so  to  Sir  Rolfe, 
Fergus.  You  promised  never  to  look  which 
way  I  went." 

"A  man  iss  not  carin'  to  shut  his  eyes  too 
often,  Maistir  Tonalt,  and  Father  Contach  him- 
self  asking  me  the  way.  It's  no  for  the  like  of 


106  Sara's  Lover. 

me  to  be  telling  a  real  goot  man  like  Father 
Contach  what  iss  not  the  truth.  He  wass  at  the 
castle  last  night,  and  he  wass  shaking  hands  with 
me,  and  he  wass  saying :  '  So  Maistir  Tonalt  is 
on  the  sea  again,  and  which  way  iss  it  he  will  be 
taking  whateffer,  Fergus?'" 

"  And  you  told  him  ?" 

"  I  did  not  tell  him,  but  I  will  haf  to  tell  him 
of  the  lie  whateffer  at  my  next  confession  ,  and  it 
iss  many  a  time  I  haf  gone  round  my  beads  for 
you  alreadty,  Maistir  Tonalt." 

"  Don't  be  cross,  Fergus.  What  did  the  Father 
say  ?  Or  rather,  what  did  you  say  to  him  ?" 

"  I  saidt :  '  You  will  haf  to  ask  himself,  Father. 
They  were  telling  me  he  wass  going  north,  and 
they  were  telling  me  he  wass  going  south,  and 
some,  mirover,  were  saying  it  wass  to  Rona 
whateffer  the  Sea  Bird  flew — but  I  was  not 
knowing  myself.'  That  is  what  I  saidt,  and  the 
father  looket  sharp  at  me,  and  he  saidt :  '  That 
iss  no  way  to  speak,  Fergus.  If  you  will  pe  say 
ing  your  prayers  to-night — and  surely  you  will 


Saras  Lover.  107 

pe  saying  ^them — maybe,  to-morrow,  you  will 
pe  knowing  if  it  pe  to  the  north  or  south  or  west 
the  Sea  Bird  goes.  And  so,  maybe,  if  you  will 
pe  saying  your  own  prayers,  Maistir  Tonalt,  you 
will  not  pe  wanting  an  old  man,  who  hass  ferry 
little  time  left  for  praying,  to  pe  telling  the  lie 
for  you." 

At  that  hour,  life  seemed  a  very  dull,  hopeless 
affair  to  Donald.  Mr.  Balfour's  anger,  Father 
Matthew's  suspicions,  and  the  ill-temper  of  Fer 
gus,  being  all  knots  in  the  same  tangled  skein  of 
circumstances.  He  did  not  even  feel  as  if  Mac- 
lane's  sympathy  had  been  all  he  might  have 
expected  from  him,  and  he  began  to  change  his 
clothing  with  an  utter  weariness  of  the  condi 
tions  of  his  life.  For  youth  is  the  time  when 
these  pallid  despairs  have  their  greatest  power. 
Men  in  mid  life  know  that  there  are  few  troubles 
that  are  really  as  bad  as  they  appear  to  be  ;  and 
old  men  feel  that  their  journey  is  nearly  over, 
and  that  no  contradiction  of  sorrow  can  hurt 
them  very  long.  So,  it  is  youth  that  dashes  its 


io8  Sara's  Lover. 

head  against  the  insurmountable  wall  of  circum 
stances  ;  when  years  bring  wisdom,  the  same 
man  will  recognize  that  the  wall  is  the  absolute, 
and  he  will  make  a  friend  of  it  and  walk  under 
its  shelter. 

The  twenty  years'  difference  in  the  ages  of 
Maclane  and  Donald  put  between  them  just  this 
difference  in  their  way  of  looking  at  life.  Mac- 
lane  was  as  far  sympathetic  as  it  was  possible  for 
him  to  be.  He  remembered,  also,  his  own 
youthful  extravagances  of  emotion,  and  watched 
Donald  under  the  same  excesses  with  a  senti 
ment  in  which  disapproval  and  envy  were  curi 
ously  mixed.  Loving,  perhaps,  quite  as  passion 
ately  as  Donald,  he  was  still  able  to  restrain 
impetuosities  which  might  injure  his  pretensions, 
and  to  affect  that  wise  and  calm  devotion  which 
was  more  suitable  to  his  years. 

Yet  never  a  lover's  heart  beat  more  warmly 
and  tenderly  than  his  when  he  perceived  that 
fortune  had  given  him  the  opportunity  he  had 
been  watching  for.  He  had  made  his  usual 


Sards  Lover.  109 

most  fastidious  toilet  and  enjoyed  the  late  break 
fast  which  Fergus  had  served  him,  and  then,  hav 
ing  lit  his  cigar,  was  about  to  take  a  walk  in  the 
court,  when  Miss  Torquil,  glowing  with  health 
and  beauty,  returned  from  her  ride. 

"  I  have  left  Lord  Lenox  on  the  moor,"  she 
said,  gayly.  "  A  wing  of  plover,  followed  by  a 
pack  of  grouse,  were  too  much  for  him  —  or 
rather,  too  much  for  me,  for  he  left  me  to  pur 
sue  them." 

"  How  could  he  be  so  insensible  ?" 

"  He  expected  to  be  insensible.  He  took  his 
gun  with  him — at  least  he  sent  a  gilly  with  it  to 
the  Black  Cairn.  When  the  two  men  met,  I  had 
not  a  chance,  I  assure  you.  You  should  have 
seen  their  faces ;  I  feel  sure  that  Lord  Lenox 
was  very  glad  to  leave  me  to  the  care  of  my 
groom." 

Maclane  lifted  her  from  the  saddle,  followed 
her  into  the  breakfast-parlor,  and  procured  her 
a  cup  of  coffee.  She  sat  down  before  the  fire 
to  drink  it ;  and,  very  soon,  they  fell  into  an 


no  Sards  Lover. 

easy  conversation  about  Donald  and  their  recent 
sail,  and  Mr.  Maclane's  near  departure.  At  first 
it  was  animated  and  continuous,  but  gradually 
Maclane's  intense  feeling  became  only  half- 
veiled,  his  questions  were  absently  asked,  his 
answers  as  absently  made.  Little  intervals 
of  silence  fell  between  them.  Sara  began  to  be 
aware  of  an  atmosphere  strange  and  full  of  fate  ; 
she  was  anxious  to  escape  from  it,  and  struggling 
against  her  sensibility  to  it,  when  Maclane 
spoke  : 

"  Miss  Torquil,  I  am  going  away,  as  you  know, 
to-morrow,  but  I  shall  leave  all  the  sweetest  and 
strongest  hopes  of  my  life  with  you.  I  am  sure 
that  you  understand  this;  love,  such  as  mine, 
must  have  been  divined  by  its  object." 

"  I  have  seen  that  you  think  very  highly  of 
me.  To  deny  it  would  be  affectation." 

"  I  love  you.  I  can  say  no  stronger  words,  if 
you  believe  them.  I  know  that  I  am  twenty 
years  older  than  you  are ;  but,  sincerely,  I  do  not 
think  mere  youth  is  the  advantage  people  affect 


Sara's  Lover.  1 1 1 


to  consider  it  in  a  lover.  Your  great  beauty 
and  honorable  descent  deserve  a  high  social 
position.  I  can  give  it  to  you.  No  one  shall 
have  a  more  splendid  home  and  retinue  in 
London ;  and  there  are  few  country  houses  in  all 
England  to  compare  with  Sarum  Court,  my  resi 
dence  in  Lancashire.  I  will  settle  ten  thousand 
pounds  upon  you,  to  be  entirely  in  your  own 
will  and  pleasure.  I  will  be  a  true,  honorable 
and  devoted  husband  to  you.  If  my  pleading 
seems  mercenary,  remember  I  must  say  all  that 
I  can  for  my  own  cause.  I  have  not  youth  nor 
beauty  to  offer ;  love,  wealth,  honor,  high  social 
position,  I  can  give.  Will  you  think  over  what 
I  have  said,  Miss  Torquil  ?" 


CHAPTER    VI. 

SENTENCE    SUSPENDED. 

Sara  had  listened  with  glowing  cheeks  and 
little  nervous  movements  of  her  hands,  occasion 
ally  lifting  her  eyes  to  the  earnest  face  regard 
ing  her  with  such  tender  entreaty.  The  honesty 
and  warmth  of  her  lover's  appeal  were  beyond 
doubt ;  and  she  was  far  from  being  insensible  to 
the  social  advantages  Mr.  Maclane  could  give 
her.  Even  while  he  was  speaking,  she  had 
imagined  herself  at  the  head  of  a  splendid 
London  establishment,  and  a  leader  in  that 
world  of  fashion  and  gayety  which  environs 
royalty  and  political  power.  She  knew,  only 
too  well,  the  miseries  of  proud  poverty,  and  the 
compelled  acts  of  shabbiness  and  meanness  that 
are  the  results  of  a  want  of  ready  money. 


Sentence  Suspended.  113 

Donald  could  have  his  troop ;  her  father  could 
make  Tasmer  all  that  he  dreamed  of  making  it. 
The  restoration  of  the  old  church ;  the  new  rec 
tory  for  Father  Contach  ;  oh,  so  many  good  things 
were  included  in  the  offer  she  was  listening  to ! 

And  Maclane  was  pleasant-looking,  a  gentle 
man,  clever ;  with  a  'good  heart  and  a  generous 
hand.  It  was  not  as  if  money  was  all  he  had  to 
give  her.  She  looked  up  once,  almost  with 
acceptance  in  her  eyes  ;  but  ere  the  feeling  was 
distinct  enough  to  reveal  itself,  she  remembered 
the  dark,  handsome  face  of  Lord  Lenox.  Not 
two  hours  previously,  he  had  said  to  her  :  "  Do 
you  know  why  I  asked  you  to  ride  with  me  to 
the  Black  Cairn?  Because  I  wish  to  leave  my 
image  in  every  one  of  your  usual  haunts.  I 
want  you  to  think  of  me  wherever  you  are  " — 
and  the  words  had  been  invested  with  a  far 
tenderer  meaning  by  the  way  in  which  he  had 
leaned  forward  to  catch  her  eyes,  by  the  glow 
in  his  own  eyes,  and  by  the  caressing  manner  in 
which  he  had  touched  her  hand. 


j  14  Sentence  Suspended. 

Indeed,  during  his  whole  visit,  Lord  Lenox 
had  been  hinting  in  a  variety  of  ways  the  devo 
tion  which  Maclane  had  expressed  so  plainly. 
Lenox  was  young,  noble,  fascinating ;  she  sup 
posed  he  was  wooing  her  as  gentlemen  of  his 
order  were  accustomed  to  woo ;  and  that  Mr. 
Maclane's  undisguised  statements  were  equally 
the  natural  method  of  a  man  accustomed  to 
business,  and  methodical,  straightforward  ar 
rangements. 

So,  when  he  ceased  speaking,  Sara  Torquil 
met  his  eyes  with  a  frank  yet  grave  assent  to 
the  request  he  made  : 

"  I  will  certainly  think  of  what  you  have  said, 
Mr.  Maclane,"  she  answered.  "  I  do  not  love 
you ;  I  have  never  thought  of  marrying  you  : 
so  much  I  ought  to  tell  you." 

"  But  you  do  not  dislike  me  ?" 

"  That  would  be  impossible." 

"  And  you  respect  my  character  as  tar  as  you 
know  and  understand  it  ?" 

"  I  should  do  you  a  great  injustice  if  I  did  not." 


Sentence   Suspended.  \  1 5 

"Then  I  will  dare  to  hope.  I  am  seeking  so 
great  a  favor  that  I  expect  to  seek  it  with 
patient  diligence,  and  to  wait  until  time  brings 
rne  the  propitious  hour." 

"  But  I  have  not  promised  that  time  will  ever 
bring  it.  Remember  that,  Mr.  Maclane." 

"  As  long  as  you  remain  Miss  Torquil,  I  shall 
dare  to  hope  for  and  to  look  for  it." 

She  had  risen  and  gathered  her  habit  over  her 
arm,  and  as  he  said  the  words,  he  was  walking 
with  her  to  the  (Joor  of  the  room.  As  he  opened 
it,  Donald  entered. 

"  Oh,  Sara !"  he  cried,  hurriedly,  "  I  was  look 
ing  for  you.  They  told  me  you  were  riding 
with  Lenox,  and  I  was  scolding  you  in  my 
heart." 

"But  why,  Donald?" 

"  Because,  whenever  I  want  you  you  are  rid 
ing  with  Lenox." 

"  Then,  why  do  you  not  stay  at  home  and  ride 
with  me  ?  Off  to  sea  you  go  ;  you  play  truant 
from  all  hospitable  duties  ;  and  not  only  are  you 


1 1 6  Sentence  Suspended. 

recreant  yourself,  you  make  Mr.  Maclane  quite 
as  bad.  I  only  am  left  to  entertain  Lenox ;  for 
father  has  given  himself  as  a  bond-slave  to  Simon 
Lovat,  I  think.  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?" 

"  Nothing  particularly.  I  wanted  to  look  at 
you.  Do  you  think  I  should  go  to  Sir  Rolfe's 
room  ? — and,  oh !  Has  he  said  anything  about 
the  Sea  Bird? — I  mean  about  the  usual  course 
she  sails  ?" 

"  You  are  as  bad  as  a  woman,  Donald.  You 
put  your  principal  question  as  a  post-query. 
Now  you  do  not  want  to  see  me  particularly, 
nor  yet,  father;  but  you  do  want  most  particu 
larly  to  know  if  he  suspects  you  of  any  love- 
affair  somewhere  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Gair- 
loch.  I  do  !  I  do  not  believe  father  does.  At 
present,  he  cannot  understand  how  a  man  can 
care  for  anything  but  sheep  and  birds  and  red 
deer." 

"  Then  I  had  better  see  him  at  once  ?" 

"  I  think  you  had." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do,  Maclane  ?" 


Sentence   Suspended.  1 1 7 

"  I  thought  of  walking  down  to  the  village  and 
talking  with  the  Mackenzies  about  a  boat." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that.  If  you  see  Angus,  tell 
him  to  come  up  to  the  castle — tell  him  to  leave 
the  fishing  and  every  other  thing,  and  come 
without  fail." 

To  Donald's  knock,  Sir  Rolfe,  in  the  half- 
conscious  way  of  a  thoroughly  engrossed  man, 
gave  the  word  to  enter.  He  was  sitting  at  a 
table  loaded  with  papers — old  parchment  deeds, 
and  modern  legal  cap  covered  with  figures  or 
with  one  kind  of  angular,  aggressive-looking 
writing.  Simon  Lovat  sat  by  his  side ;  their 
heads  were  together  over  a  large  map  of  the 
estate ;  Torquil's  fine  soldierly  figure  contrasting 
in  the  most  marked  manner  with  the  keen,  puck 
ered,  fox-like  face  of  Lovat,  his  lean,  small  form 
and  absorbed  manner. 

"  Good-morning,  Donald ;"  and  Sir  Rolfe  lifted 
from  the  map  his  long,  finely-shaped  white  hand, 
and  offered  it  to  his  son  in  an  absent  manner. 
"  You  have  been  at  sea  again  ?" 


1 1 8  Sentence   Suspended. 

"  I  took  Mr.  Maclane,  sir.  Maclane  likes  the 
sea ;  he  has  just  gone  to  order  a  boat  for  him 
self.  As  for  Lord  Lenox,  he  has  the  whole  moor 
to  range,  and  he  does  not  seem  to  care  for  any 
other  pleasure." 

"  Well,  well,  make  the  most  of  your  holiday. 
It  will  end  in  a  few  days.  Then  you  and  I  have 
our  work  laid  out  for  some  years  ;  have  we  not, 
Lovat  ?" 

"  A  great  work,  a  very  great  work,  Mr. 
Donald." 

"  Much  greater  and  better,  Donald,  than 
idling  about  barracks  and  dawdling  after  royal 
parades.  I  know  the  full  value  of  that  life,  I  am 
sorry  to  say." 

"  In  all  you  desire  I  shall  be  glad  to  help  you, 
sir." 

"  By  the  bye,  what  direction  were  you  and 
Maclane  sailing  ?" 

"  Northward,  sir,  toward  Torridon." 

"  Did  you  see  anything  of  the  fishers  around 
Melvich?  They  have  been  molesting  the  Tor- 


Sentence   Suspended.  119 

quil  fishers — fighting  them  on  our  own  waters. 
Have  you  heard  who  this  Melvich  is  ?" 

"No,  sir.  He  is  a  stranger;  he  bought  the 
Assynt  out.  That  is  all  I  know  of  him." 

"  Keep  your  eyes  open  when  you  sail  north 
again.  If  there  is  more  quarreling,  I  want  you 
to  witness  it.  The  Torquils  have  fished  the 
Ross  coast  for  a  thousand  years.  We  will  say 
'  by  your  leave  '  to  no  one  ;  more  in  particular 
to  a  man  like  this  Melvich,  whom  nobody  knows. 
Excuse  me  now,  Donald.  1  must  make  the 
most  of  Mr.  Lovat's  time.  He  is  obliged  to 
leave  Tasmer  to-morrow.* 

Thus  dismissed,  Donald  found  himself  quite 
at  leisure,  and  he  gladly  employed  the  next  few 
hours  in  thinking  of  Roberta  and  in  writing  to 
her.  Although  unaware  of  the  extent  of  Mr. 
Balfour's  anger,  he  understood  from  his  abrupt 
relinquishment  of  ordinary  courtesy  that  it  was 
extreme.  He  was  anxious  to  justify  himself  to 
Roberta  and  to  explain  to  her  anew  the  proba 
bility  of  a  sudden  temporary  cessation  of  his 


1 20  Sentence  Suspended. 

visits.  The  winter  storms  were  imminent ;  any 
day,  the  blustering  winds  and  roaring  seas  of 
that  rock-bound  coast  might  be  an  insurmount 
able  barrier  between  them. 

It  is  always  hard  to  defend  one's  self  against 
charges  not  definite,  but  only  suspected.  For 
his  want  of  candor  regarding  his  true  position 
and  his  religion,  Donald  was  compelled  to 
blame  himself,  and  thus  in  a  manner  excuse  Mr. 
Baltour.  After  two  hours'  writing,  he  was  very 
much  dissatisfied  with  the  presentation  he  had 
made  ot  his  own  case ;  indeed,  he  felt  that  the 
best  thing  he  could  do  was  to  throw  himself 
upon  Roberta's  love  and  forgiveness.  But 
although  his  letter  was  far  from  pleasing  him, 
he  gave  it  to  Angus  with  many  verbal  additions 
and  directions,  in  case  he  should  be  so  fortunate 
as  to  see  Roberta. 

They  had  gone  into  the  firs  to  talk  over  the 
matter,  for  it  was  only  at  this  hour  Donald 
made  Angus  a  confidant.  Certainly  he  had 
understood  why  the  Sea  Bird  always  set  her  sail 


Sentence   Suspended.  1 2 1 

for  Ellerloch,  and  both  he  and  the  two  boys  had 
frequently  seen  Roberta  Balfour ;  but  their 
devotion  and  respect  were  so  entire  that  Donald 
had  fully  trusted  to  them.  Until  he  chose  to 
speak,  he  knew  they  would  all  be  blind  and  deaf 
and  dumb ;  explanation  was  now,  however, 
imperative,  and  Donald  made  it  freely,  taking 
his  humble  friend  completely  into  his  hopes  and 
fears. 

"  And  you  will  be  one  with  me,  I  know, 
Angus,"  he  concluded  ;  "  for  she  is  a  noble  girl, 
and  she  loves  me,  and  you  have  seen,  also,  how 
beautiful  she  is." 

"  I  hai  seen  her,  and  I  haf  not  seen  her, 
Maistir  Tonalt,"  Angus  answered,  with  modest 
courtesy  ;  "  'twas  not  for  the  like  of  me  to  be 
lifting  my  eyes  whateffer  to  the  laaty  yourself 
waas  thinking  apout.  She  iss  a  ferry  fine  laaty, 
and  I  waas  hearing,  mirover,  that  she  can  man 
age  a  poat  as  well  as  she  can  manage  her  father's 
house.  Yes,  I  haf  heardt  that.  It  iss  a  great 


122  Sentence   Suspended. 

thing  for  a  young  laaty  to  manage  a  poat. 
Inteet  it  is,  praise  God  !" 

"  You  must  try  and  give  this  letter  into  her 
own  hand,  Angus — even  if  you  wait  a  little  to 
do  so.  And  you  will  mind  every  word  she  says 
— and  every  word  the  minister  says — 

"  I  will  care  nothing,  I  will  care  nothing  at  all 
for  what  the  minister  will  be  saying.  He  iss 
not  of  the  Ross  men.  He  iss  a  stranger,  and  he 
iss  a  Protestant  mirover,  and  he  is  a  ferry  stern 
man  with  his  sermons  and  his  reproofs,  where 
there  is  no  needt  whateffer.  They're  saying 
that ;  yes,  they  are  saying  that  of  the  minister  ; 
and  he  iss  a  Protestant  mirover." 

"  His  daughter  is  a  Protestant  also,  Angus. 
There  may  be  good  Protestants,  you  know." 

"  Oti,  ay  ;  it  iss  not  the  young  laaty 's  fault — no 
inteet !  It  waas  her  father  wouldt  be  teaching 
her  from  the  cradle ;  and  they  are  saying  her 
father  is  a  great  scholar,  and  so  he  wouldt  be 
knowing  what  iss  the  right  way,  if  he  wouldt  be 
walking  in  it.  'Tis  his  fault ;  you  will  pe  saying 


Sentence  Suspended.  123 

yourself  'tis  his  fault,  sir.  And  when  you  are 
marrit  on  Miss  Balfour,  it  iss  a  goot  Catholic 
Father  Contach  will  be  makin*  of  the  laaty, 
praise  God  ;  for  it  is  an  awful  thing  for  people 
to  be  marrit  together  when  they  are  not  both 
goot  Catholics ;  and  iss  it  not,  sir  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  Angus,"  and  Donald  looked 
very  blankly  in  his  counselor's  face. 

During  this  conversation  they  had  passed  to 
the  outskirts  of  the  firs,  and  were  standing 
together  facing  the  sea. 

"  It  is  very  rough,  Angus.  I  do  not  think  you 
can  manage  a  boat  on  such  a  sea,"  said  Donald. 

"  The  windt  is  fair,  and  I  will  not  be  carin' 
for  the  sea." 

"  You  will  try  and  give  the  letter  into  Miss 
Balfour's  own  hands  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  will  give  it  into  her  own  hands ;  and  I 
will  see  aal  and  I  will  hear  aal,  and  I  will  say 
nothing  to  anger  the  minister ;  and  the  tefil  him 
self  cannot  be  finding  fault  with  a  dumb  man.  I 
will  be  going ;  even  now  I  will  be  going." 


124 


Sentence  Suspended. 


"  I  shall  be  miserable  until  you  get  back,. 
Angus." 

"  There  is  no  needt,  there  is  no  needt  what- 
effer.  If  you  will  pe  lookin'  for  goot,  then  goot 
will  pe  comin'  to  you.  Yes,  inteet,  praise 
Godl" 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A    LOVE-LETTER. 

i 

*'  Love's  reason's  without  reason."  -v 

"  Let  determined  things  to  destiny 
Hold  unbewail'd  their  way." 

t 
44  A  woman's  thought  runs  before  her  actions." 

"  Spirits  are  not  finely 
Touched  but  to  fine  issues." 

All  at  once,  the  usually  delayed  winter  settled 
down  upon  the  desolate  land  and  sea.  Scarcely 
a  week  had  passed  since  Donald  sent  Angus  to 
Ellerloch,  and  Tasmer  had  almost  the  air  of 
some  enchanted  castle,  so  lonely  and  silent — so 
shut  off  from  the  world  of  thought  and  action 
was  it.  Mr.  Maclane  and  Lord  Lenox,  with 


126  A  Love- Letter. 

their  servants,  and  also  the  additional  servants 
their  presence  made  necessary  at  Tasmer,  were 
all  gone.  The  halls  were  silent,  and  many  of 
the  rooms  closed,  for  Sir  Rolfe  had  resolutely 
cut  down  the  regular  expenses  to  the  barest 
demands  of  anything  like  a  comfortable  life. 

To  Sara  he  had  excused  his  economy  on  the 
ground  of  her  own  anticipated  visit  to  her  aunt, 
Lady  Moidart. 

"  The  expenses  of  a  short  season  in  London 
will  be  very  great,"  he  said  ;  "  for  if  you  go  with 
Lady  Moidart  you  must  have  everything  requis 
ite  for  your  position.  I  desire  you  to  be  inde 
pendent  of  all  favors  from  the  Moidart  family, 
whom  I  always  disliked." 

"  Lady  Moidart  is  my  mother's  sister,  father." 

"  True  ;  and  equally  true,  that  she  was  never 
tired  of  reproaching  your  mother  for  mari-ying 
a  poor  soldier  with  a  shadowy  baronetcy.  But 
you  must  see  London  life,  and  she  is  the  natural 
and  proper  person  to  introduce  you  to  it." 

If  economy   were  necessary  for  this  purpose, 


A  Love-Letter*  127 


Sara  was  willing  to  be  economical.  She  had 
the  natural  desire  of  a  young  and  beautiful 
woman,  for  society,  and  she  wished  to  see  if 
society  were  indeed  the  fascinating  thing  she 
had  imagined  it,  from  such  remarks  as  had 
fallen  from  their  late  visitors.  Also,  she  was 
anxious  to  see  Lord  Lenox  again.  Although  he 
had  made  her  no  distinct  profession  of  love,  he 
had  told  her  in  a  way  no  woman  ever  misinter 
prets,  that  she  was  beautiful  in  his  eyes,  and 
dear  to  his  heart.  She  could  not  forget,  espe 
cially,  how  tenderly  he  had  held  her  hand  at 
parting,  and  how  his  dark  eyes  had  sought  in 
her  eyes  some  answering  sign  of  her  affection. 
At  that  time  there  had  been  no  word  spoken 
regarding  her  visit  with  Lady  Moidart  to 
London — the  invitation  having  arrived  after  his 
departure  —  and  she  pleased  herself  with  a 
thousand  fancies  of  their  meeting  in  society,  and 
of  Lenox's  proud  and  happy  surprise. 

She    was    even   glad    that   he    did    not  know 
she    was    so   soon    to    make  a  part  of  his  own 


128  A  Love-Letter. 

world.  She  thought,  with  smiles,  of  meeting 
him  suddenly  in  some  triumph  of  the  ball 
room  ;  or  when  riding  in  the  Row ;  or  in  her 
box  at  the  opera.  She  arranged  the  meeting  to 
suit  her  own  desires,  in  every  possible  way,  and 
under  every  conceivable  circumstance,  and  she 
was  happier  in  such  dreaming  than  in  any  of  the 
actual  events  of  life  around  her. 

It  is  true,  none  of  them  were  very  exciting. 
The  household  had  been  reduced  to  a  couple  of 
women  in  the  kitchen,  a  chambermaid  and  a 
laundress ;  Fergus,  as  usual,  acting  as  steward 
and  attending  to  the  table.  Tasmer  was 
environed  by  great  white  moors  and  a  black 
tossing  ocean.  Visiting  was  impossible,  and  to 
keep  warm  and  pass  the  time  as  comfortably  as 
might  be,  seemed  the  only  visible  object  of  life. 
Donald  was  moody  and  restless  and  inclined  to 
solitude.  He  told  Sara  he  was  anxious  about 
his  future,  which  was  a  true  enough  statement, 
though  Sara  thought  of  it  in  one  way,  and 
Donald  in  another.  She  imagined  his  anxiety 


A  Love-Letter.  129 


referred  to  the  plans  which  Sir  Rolfe  was  per 
fecting  in  the  seclusion  of  his  own  room,  and 
which  Donald  was  expected  to  assist  in  carry 
ing  out  Donald  knew  that  his  main  care 
referred  to  the  success  of  the  mission  on  which 
he  had  sent  Angus  Mackenzie. 

Angus  had  been  nearly  a  week  away,  and 
every  day  had  been  a  separate  week  to  Donald. 
He  was  angry  at  the  wind  and  the  waves  and 
the  black  sky  ;  he  felt  as  if  nature  herself  were 
hostile  to  him.  Sometimes  he  was  angry  at 
Angus,  and  the  unreason  of  his  anger  made  it  no 
easier  to  control.  On  the  afternoon  of  the  sixth 
day,  however,  he  saw  the  returning  boat,  and  he 
went  down  to  the  village  to  meet  it.  It  was 
hard  tor  the  sturdy  little  craft  to  make  the 
harbor,  for  the  wind  was  about  southeast,  and  a 
good  blow  of  it.  But  Angus  kept  her  broad, 
square  stern  at  right  angles  to  the  traveling 
wave,  and  fighting  his  way  slowly,  lunged 
forward  into  smooth  water.  But  it  was  a  nasty 
day  ;  a  waste  of  gray  below,  and  a  waste  of 


130  A  Love-Letter. 

gray  above,  and  a  thick  smurr  of  rain  between. 
"  A  little  shoory,"  as  Angus  said,  throwing  off 
his  oil-skins,  and  turning  his  kind,  handsome 
face  to  Donald,  who  was  sitting  on  Helen 
Mackenzie's  hearth-stone.  She  was  hurrying 
forward  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  bannock  and  herring 
for  her  hungry,  wet  son  ;  but  she  understood 
that  there  were  "  whisht  words "  between  the 
young  men,  and  as  soon  as  the  meal  was  ready, 
she  took  her  knitting  and  went  into  a  neighbor's 
cottage. 

Then  Donald  said :  "  You  have  had  a  hard 
time,  I  fear,  Angus." 

"  I  haf  had  a  hard  time,  sir.  The  windt  wass 
never  steady  ;  it  wass  sweeping  the  sea  in  heavy 
squalls,  with  but  ferry  little  rest  between  them  ; 
the  poat  herself  wass  glat  when  we  got  under 
the  landt.  There  was  a  man  wrapped  up  in  oil 
skins  on  the  pier,  and  he  said  to  me  :  '  You  was 
hafing  a  hardt  fight  whateffer,  and  I  was  waiting 
here  to  see  if  you  would  be  wanting  help ;  and 
where  will  you  be  coming  from  in  such 


A  Love-Letter.  131 

weather  .v  he  says,  ferry  kindly.  Then  I  saw  it 
\vass  the  minister,  and  he  wass  knowing  me  also, 
and  when  he  was  speaking  again  it  wass  not  so 
kindt.  '  And  what  are  you  coming  here  for, 
Angus  Mackenzie?'  he  asked  me.  I  saidt: 
'  There  is  no  shame  in  my  coming  here  whateSer, 
Maistir  Balfour.  I  haf  brought  a  letter  from  the 
young  Laird  of  Torquil  to  your  daughter,  sir.' 
'And  iss  that  it?'  he  asked.  'Then  come  with 
me.  And  were  you  seeing  anything  of  Mr 
Maclane  since  a  few  days?'  Ferry  sifil  he  wass, 
and  I  said  I  wass  not  seeing  nothing  apout  him 
for  a  week,  nor  more  than  that ;  and  I  wass  hear 
ing  he  hadt  gone  back  to  the  south  whateffer ; 
and  he  saidt  no  more  till  we  were  in  the  house, 
and  it  was  in  my  oil-skins  he  took  me  into  the 
parlor." 

"  Then  you  saw  Miss  Balfour?" 

"  She  was  sitting  in  the  parlor,  and  she  wass 
sewing  her  white  seam,  mirover,  and  when  the 
minister  saidt :  *  Here  is  Angus  Mackenzie  with 
a  letter  from  young  Torquil,'  she  lifted  her  head 


132  A  Love-Letter. 

as  quick  as  a  flash  of  lightning.  And  I  took  the 
letter  from  my  pocket,  and  wass  going  to  gif  it 
to  her,  but  the  minister,  he  stept  forward  more 
quick  than  I  can  tell  you,  and  he  took  the  letter 
from  me  and  he  put  it  in  the  blazing  fire ;  and  he 
stoodt  before  the  fire  and  he  lookedtat  Miss  Bal- 
four  with  his  lips  tight  shut  and  his  face  as  white 
as  a  mortal  corpse." 

"  Oh,  Angus !  Angus !" 

"  And  it  wass  not  my  fault ;  no,  it  wass  not  my 
fault" 

"  What  did  Miss  Balfour  say  ?" 

"  She  let  her  work  fall  down,  and  she  stoodt 
up  with  her  face  blazing,  and  she  wass  in  a 
tremple  all  ofer  ;  and  it  wass  almost  in  a  whisper 
she  saidt :  'Father!  How  cruel,  how  wicket 
that  iss  !'  Ferry  angry  he  spoke  up  :  'It  iss  kindt, 
it  iss  goot,  it  iss  right,  what  I  haf  done,  and  I 
haf  done  it  pefore  your  eyes.  1  might  have  got 
the  letter  from  the  man,  and  nefer  told  you  that 
a  letter  came ;  but  1  will  be  honest  with  you,  and 
I  will  show  you  and  him,  too,  that  I  will  not  hal 


A  Love-Letter.  133 


you — no,  nor  myself — readt  any  letter  that  Ton- 
alt  Torquil  writes.  Now,  Angus  Mackenzie,  you 
go  to  the  kitchen  and  they  will  gif  you  meat  and 
trink.' " 

"  And  did  Miss  Balfour  manage  to  see  you  in 
the  kitchen?" 

"  It  wass  not  in  his  house,  sir,  I  wass  going  to 
stay,  after  the  insult ;  and  ferry  quick  I  wass 
telling  him  that.  'I  will  not  set  in  your  house 
whateffer  sir,  nor  take  a  trink  of  coldt  water  in 
it.  No,  inteet !  for  I  am  the  Torquil's  poor 
cousin,  and  his  insult  iss  my  insult;  and  it  iss 
your  white  hairs  and  your  plack  coat  will  be 
safin'  you  this  morning.'  And  what  else  couldt 
I  pe  saying  ?  There  was  nothing  else.  You 
will  be  knowing  that  fine  yourself,  sir." 

"  Oh,  Angus,  I  wanted  a  word  from  her  1  I 
wanted  a  word  so  much  !" 

"  Wass  you  thinking,  sir,  I  wouldt  be  coming 
with  no  word  in  my  mouth  or  in  my  hand  ?  No, 
inteet!  Praise  God,  Angus  Mackenzie  can 
make  a  new  way,  if  the  olt  way  will  not  pe  a  goot 


134  -A  Love-Letter. 

way  ;"  and  with  a  beaming  face  he  took  from 
his  pocket  the  desired  letter. 

Donald  was  too  happy  to  speak.  The  white 
message  in  his  open  hand  thrilled  him  with 
delight.  He  anticipated  the  happy  hour  when 
he  should  be  able  to  read  it,  and  there  was  even 
a  kind  of  luxury  in  postponing  the  joy  until  soli 
tude  could  give  it  the  last  and  sweetest  charm. 
And  for  the  present  he  held  it  fast  in  his  hand 
and  saw  his  own  name  in  the  free,  clear  writing 
he  knew  so  well.  It  was  in  pencil,  however,  and 
as  he  looked  at  it  he  perceived  that  it  was 
unsealed.  Angus  saw  the  flitting  shadow  of 
surprise  on  Donald's  face,  and  he  answered  it : 

"  She  wass  saying  some  ferry  pretty  wordts 
about  the  seal :  '  Tell  Angus  Mackenzie  I  haf 
no  wax,  but  it  will  pe  sealed  safe  with  his  honor.' 
And  you  will  be  knowing,  sir,  that  them  are  the 
true  wordts  whateffer?" 

"  True  as  truth,  Angus.  Wax  might  be 
broken  ;  your  honor  is  beyond  doubt.  But  how 
did  you  get  the  letter  ?" 


A  Love-Letter.  135 

"  A  man  is  not  carin'  to  be  treated  thon  way. 
I  wass  mat  at  the  minister,  and  I  thought,  as  I 
left  his  house  at  my  pack,  there  will  pe  a  Mac 
kenzie  somewhere  in  the  village  ;  for,  praise 
God,  the  Mackenzies  are  all  ofer  Ross  whateffer ; 
and  the  ferry  first  cottage  I  came  to  wass  Rose 
Mackenzie's ;  and  she  was  glat  to  see  me.  What 
for  no,  when  I  came  from  Torquil,  and  she  wass 
porn  and  pred  in  the  place  whateffer?  And  I 
wass  welcome  on  her  hearth,  and  she  gave  me 
pread  and  a  cup  of  tea,  and  I  toldt  her  how  the 
young  Torquil  hadt  peen  insulted  py  the  strange 
man  from  the  south,  and  she  wass  mat,  too,  and 
she  saidt :  '  I  will  pe  taking  the  stockings  I  haf 
peen  knitting,  to  the  minister,  and  I  will  pe  see 
ing  Miss  Balfour,  and  if  you  haf  a  wordt  to  send 
her,  it  will  pe  going  safe  and  secret  in  my  mouth.' 
So  I  toldt  her  to  tell  the  young  laaty  that  '  my 
poat  wouldt  leafe  that  day,  and  yet  it  wouldt  not 
leafe  that  day.  I  was  going  down  the  coast  for 
eight  miles  to  Locherrol,  and  there  I  wouldt 
leafe  the  boat  and  walk  pack  to  Rose  Mac- 


136  A  Love-Letter. 

kenzie's  for  the  letter,  if  she  wouldt  pe  hafing  one 
for  me  to  carry  to  the  Torquil.'  That  wass  the 
way  I  got  the  letter.  It  wass  by  Rose  she  sent 
it,  also  the  pretty  wordts  apout  my  honor;  and 
I  will  nefer  pe  forgetting  them,  nefer." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  Mr.  Balfour,  Angus  ? 
If  I  go  and  see  him,  will  he  listen  to  me?" 

"  They  are  saying  he  is  a  shentleman,  and  so 
he  will  listen  to  you,  if  you  will  pe  speaking  to 
him  ;  put  he  will  not  pe  doing  anything  you 
will  pe  asking  him.  Oh,  'tis  sure  as  the  tide 
flowing !  He  will  not  pe  doing  anything  at  all. 
And  he  will  not  pe  trusting  his  daughter,  for 
it  wass  neither  pen  nor  ink  she  couldt  findt  in 
the  house,  and  the  wax  was  in  his  own  pocket ; 
but,  praise  God,  he  had  not  mindt  of  the  laaty's 
drawing-pencils,  and  the  pencils  and  the  honor 
of  Angus  Mackenzie  wass  enough.  They  are 
saying  that  he  iss  a  ferry  goot  man,  and  a  ferry 
powerful  preacher,  whateffer,  and  he  has  written 
some  goot  pooks;  but  he  will  standt  between 


A  Love-Letter.  137 

you  and  his  daughter  till  the  day  nefer — come 
— nefer — that  iss  what  I  am  thinking." 

Donald  would  have  gladly  prolonged  the  con 
versation  ;  he  was  ready  to  ask  over  and  over 
how  Roberta  looked,  what  she  wore,  and  what 
she  was  doing.  As  to  the  few  words  she  spoke, 
he  made  Angus  repeat  them  many  times.  But 
Angus  was  very  tired.  He  had  had  but  little 
sleep  for  a  week,  and  the  comfort  of  the  fire 
and  the  sense  of  being  at  last  off  watch,  was  too 
much  for  the  exhausted  youth.  He  was  soon 
fast  asleep,  and  Donald,  with  the  precious  letter 
in  his  possession,  not  unwillingly  left  him  to  his 
much  needed  rest. 

In  some  respects,  Roberta's  letter  was  every 
thing  a  lover  could  desire,  in  others,  it  troubled 
him  greatly ;  for  she  did  not  fear  to  face  cir 
cumstances  which  he  had  persistently  put  away 
from  his  consciousness.  Frankly  confessing  her 
love,  solemnly  declaring  that  she  would  marry 
no  man  but  him,  she  yet  pointed  out  how 
unlikely  any  marriage  between  them  was. 


138  A  Love-Letter. 

"  My  father  is  not  more  determined  to  separate  us  than 
your  father  will  be,  so  soon  as  he  knows  of  our  affection. 
Dearest  Donald,  love  cannot  be  good  if  it  makes  sorrow  and 
sin ;  for  love  is  meant  in  some  way  to  make  us  better,  not 
worse.  Oh,  yes,  it  is  meant  to  make  us  better,  even  if  it  be 
by  the  sad  discipline  of  self-denial.  My  duty  to  my  father 
is  an  old  and  a  dear  duty.  He  has  been  father  and  mother 
both  to  me,  and  I  love  him  as  he  loves  me.  When  he  seems 
to  be  unkind  or  despotic,  I  know  that  he  punishes  himself 
more  than  he  punishes  me.  This  is  a  matter  of  conscience 
with  him,  and  I  am  sure  that  he  will  never  change.  To 
spare  my  life,  or  his  own  life,  he  will  not  take  back  one  word 
of  his  decision.  I  feel  sure  Sir  Rolfe  Torquil  will  be  equally 
stubborn.  What  hope  for  us  remains  then  ?  If  you  aban 
doned  your  faith,  I  should  despise  you.  I  should  say,  if 
Donald  is  recreant  to  his  religion,  how  can  I  trust  his  affec 
tion  ?  It  is  quite  certain  that  I  shall  stand  firm  in  the  faith 
which  I  have  been  baptized  in.  One  day,  perhaps,  you  may 
be  your  own  master,  and  I  be  left  without  any  one  to  control 
my  actions ;  but  dare  we  think  of  such  a  possibility  ?  We 
should  be  wicked  indeed,  if  we  did  not  tremble  to  enter  the 
gates  which  death  set  wide  for  love." 

Much  more  in  the  same  tenor  Roberta  wrote  ; 
mingling  the  bitter  words  with  sweet  ones,  and 
yet  firmly  refusing  to  encourage  hopes  which 
could  lead  to  nothing  but  misery.  "  Such  love 
is  mockery,"  said  Donald ;  "  why  should  we  be 


The  Love-Letter.  139 

permitted  to  meet,  only  that  we  may  love  and 
suffer?  It  is  an  irony  of  fate."  And  then,  with 
strange,  sweet,  sorrowful  power,  Roberta's 
words  stole  through  his  memory,  and  frightened 
him  :  "  Love  is  meant  to  make  us  better,  even 
if  it  be  by  the  sad  discipline  of  self-denial." 

As  he  was  musing  on  this  subject,  a  servant 
brought  a  message  from  his  sister.  They  were 
to  dine  alone,  she  said,  and  she  had  ordered  the 
meal  to  be  served  in  her  own  parlor ;  and  would 
Mr.  Donald  please  not  to  keep  the  fish  waiting? 

Sara  was  in  unusual  spirits.  Two  or  three 
things  had  happened  which  pleased  her ;  and 
she  was  desirous  to  talk  about  them.  Donald 
was  generally  her  confidant ;  she  was  almost 
glad  when  Sir  Rolfe  decided  to  eat  his  dinner  in 
his  own  room.  There  was  something  delightful 
in  discussing  pleasant  events  over  a  nice  dinner, 
and  she  reflected  that  Donald  was  always  appre 
ciative  of  fine  fish  and  perfectly  cooked  grouse, 
and  delicate  dessert.  Few  men  are  not  so,  even 
under  depressing  love-affairs,  and  the  young 


J4O  The  Love-Letter. 

man's  face  brightened  at  the  sight  of  the  cheerily 
lit  room,  the  elegant  table  and  the  beautiful  girl 
%vho  welcomed  him. 

The  pleasant  meal  over,  Donald  and  Sara 
turned  their  chairs  to  the  fireside. 

"  I  have  had  two  very  agreeable  things  hap 
pen  to  me  this  afternoon,  Donald  ;  father  gave 
me  the  key  ot  mother's  laces — grandmother's 
will  go  to  your  wife,  he  says — these  are  some 
ol  them  ;"  and  she  lifted  some  flounces  from  a 
work-basket  at  her  side.  "  1  was  darning  them  a 
iittle  ;  are  they  not  lovely  ?" 

"  They  look  very  yellow." 

"  Barbarian  !  That  is  part  of  their  loveliness. 
Look  at  this  pattern.  It  is  the  crown  and  lilies, 
and  was  lost  at  the  French  Revolution.  I  assure 
you  it  is  priceless.  I  am  to  have  her  jewelry, 
also,  when  I  go  to  London.  I  wonder  if  it  is 
liandsome?" 

For  a  moment,  Donald's  thoughts  went  back 
to  the  mother  he  could  just  remember.  He  had 
one  or  two  sacred  memories  of  her  which  he 


The  Love- Letter.  141 

never  named,  but  jewels  did  not  make  any  part 
of  them. 

"  I  never  saw  mother  in  jewels,"  he  said. 
"  She  seemed  always  to  wear  a  white  dress,  and 
to  be  lying  on  a  sofa.  Poor  mother !  She  was 
so  young  to  die,  1  think  father  must  have  missed 
her  very  much.  Why  has  he  not  come  down 
stairs  to  dinner  ?" 

"  He  is  not  very  well ;  but  he  was  good  to  me 
about  my  London  visit  this  morning.  I  am  to 
have  five  hundred  pounds,  and  more  if  1  require 
it.  I  understand,  though,  Donald,  that  he 
intends  this  to  be  my  first  and  last  season.  I  am 
to  have  my  chance,  dear,  and  I  am  expected  to 
make  the  most  of  it — to  marry,  and  to  marry 
well,  Donald." 

"  When  are  you  going?" 

"  I  had  a  letter  from  Aunt  Moidart  this  morrr- 
ing.  She  thinks  I  had  better  come  to  her  as 
soon  as  possible.  In  another  month,  the  roads 
will  be  blocked  with  snow  or  else  be  roaring 
torrents," 


142  The  Love-Letter. 

"  Not  quite  as  bad  as  that.  I  shall  miss  you, 
Sara." 

"  I  hope  you  Will,  dear.  However,  father 
intends  to  keep  you  very  busy.  There  has  been 
a  large  correspondence  opened,  and  you  are  to 
attend  to  it.  I  heard  Lovat  and  father  saying 
that." 

**  Is  Lovat  coming  back  soon  ?" 

"  No  ;  he  has  Lord  Lenox's  affairs  to  attend  to 
now.'* 

"  Why  does  he  trouble  himself  about  so  many 
sick  estates?  I  should  be  afraid  of  the  man. 
No  doubt  he  has  his  own  interests  to  attend  to, 
also." 

"  I  think  you  are  mistaken.  Simon  Lovat  is  a 
character.  He  takes  his  proper  fee,  of  course  ; 
but  he  really  finds  the  keenest  pleasure  in  turn 
ing  poor  estates  into  rich  ones.  He  loves 
money  because  it  is  money.  He  loves  to  see  it 
increase.  He  expects  a  piece  of  land  as  big  as 
my  pocket-handkerchiet  to  do  its  duty  and  add 
to  the  rent-roll.  Father  says  Lovat  cannot  hear 


A  Love-Letter*  143 


a  large  sum  of  money  mentioned  without  having 
a  palpitation  of  his  heart.  When  he  counts 
gold  or  notes,  his  face  flushes  like  a  girl's.  1 
suppose  he  has  the  same  pleasure  in  bringing 
riches  out  of  poverty  as  a  doctor  has  in  a 
desperate  case,  or  a  soldier  in  a  forlorn  hope." 

"  It  is  the  love  of  chase  in  us,  Sara.  All  men 
have  the  passion  in  some  form  or  other.  Even 
in  our  high  civilization  we  are  constantly  exhib 
iting  the  stealthy  or  cruel  instincts  of  ancestors, 
who  were,  both  as  regards  men  and  animals, 
'  mighty  hunters  before  the  Lord' — or  the 
devil." 

"  We  are  wandering  from  our  subject,  which 
was  London.  I  suppose  this  season  may  decide 
my  fate,  Donald." 

"  Don't  be  in  a  hurry,  Sara.  Girls  are  so  apt 
to  take  their  first  offer,  and  it  is  very  often  a  bad 
one." 

"  Do  you  think  so?  I  have  had  my  first  offer, 
Donald — and  refused  it  •  at  least,  I  suppose  it 
was  a  refusal." 


144  -A  Love-Letter. 

"  Oh  !  It  was  Lenox,  I  dare  say.  I  am  glad 
you  refused  him.  I  always  thought  him  mean 
enough,  and  he  is  simply  devoted  to  himself." 

"  You  are  mistaken — every  way.  It  was  Mr. 
Maclane  who  honored  me." 

"Indeed,  then,  it  was  an  honor.  Surely  you 
did  not  refuse  him?"  And  Donald,  having 
mmCt  of  his  friend's  confidence  in  him,  listened 
anxiously  for  her  answer. 

"  1  do  not  love  him.  What  is  love  ?  Were 
you  ever  in  love,  Donald  ?  Do  poets  and  novel 
ists  tell  the  truth  about  it  ?  If  so,  I  am  not  in 
love  with  Mr.  Maclane,  and  I  told  him  so." 

"  Did  that  settle  the  matter?" 

"  No.  He  said  he  would  be  satisfied  with  my 
respect  and  friendship.  He  thought  respect 
and  friendship  a  safe  foundation  for  marriage. 
Do  you,  Donald?" 

"  It  might  be — only,  Sara,  if — if,  after  marriage, 
you  should  meet  the  one  you  could  love,  you 
would  feel  as  if  you  had  turned  the  key  on 


A  Love-Letter.  145 


your  own  happiness  and  you  must  stand  outside 
of  it  forever.  That  would  be  dreadful." 

At  this  moment  Father  Matthew  Contach 
entered  the  room. 

"  My  children,"  he  said,  "  can  I  sit  beside  you 
for  a  little  while  ?" 

They  made  room  for  him  joyfully  ;  but  it  was 
not  many  minutes  ere  Sara  saw  that  he  was 
troubled,  and  she  said : 

"  Something  has  grieved  you,  dear  Father?" 

"There  is  trouble  in  the  village,  Sara.  I 
came  up  to  see  Sir  Rolfe  about  it ;  came 
through  the  rain,  hoping  to  spare  some  hearts 
an  anxiety  ;  but  Sir  Rolfe  will  say  nothing  on 
the  subject  to  me.  He  is  not  ready  to  speak 
yet,  he  says,  and  surely  he  is  not  bound  to  do  so 
until  he  is  fully  persuaded  in  his  own  mind  ; 
but  when  the  heart  is  sad  hours  are  so  long.  I 
thought  to  end  suspense,  that  was  all.  Well, 
Sara,  and  so  you  are  going  to  London  ?" 

Then  he  put  away  all  his  depression  and 
listened  with  interest  and  pleasure  to  all  the 


146  A  Love-Letter. 

hopes  of  the  gay,  glad  girl ;  now  and  then,  as 
it  seemed  wise  and  kind,  reminding  her  of  the 
duties  that  must  not  be  forgotten.  Indeed,  his 
interest  in  Lady  Moidart's  letters,  in  the  season  s 
promises,  in  the  great  people  and  great  festivals 
of  the  world  so  far  removed  from  him,  appeared 
so  keen  and  sympathetic,  that  Donald  felt  a 
kind  of  sorrow  in  the  seclusion  of  a  man  so 
learned,  so  splendidly  manly,  and  yet  so  Christ- 
like  ;  and  with  the  impulsiveness  and  want  of 
tact  common  in  youth  he  ventured  a  remark 
which  implied  this  feeling. 

Father  Matthew  neither  resented  nor  denied 
the  supposition.  He  looked  thoughtful  for  a 
few  moments,  and  then  answered  : 

"  I  think,  Donald,  that  all  priests  feel  some 
times  the  weight  of  the  cross  which  they  have 
voluntarily  lifted,  and  which  they  cheerfully 
bear  in  the  main.  Christ  felt  His  cross  heavy. 
As  for  myself,  I  never  regret  such  moments  of 
weariness  ;  they  are  only  momentary,  and  from 
them  the  soul  triumphantly  rises. 


The  Love-Letter. 


'47 


*  '  The  cross  is  strength  ;  the  solemn  cross  is  gain. 
The  cross  is  Jesu's  breast. 
Here  giveth  He  the  rest 
That  to  His  best  beloved  doth  still  remain.' " 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

FATHER     AND     SON. 

*'  We  sowed  the  seed  and  reap'd  the  grain,  with  thankful 

hearts  and  kind ; 

Our  cattle  grazed  upon  the  hill  that  rose  our  homes  behind  ; 
And  so  we  dwelt  in  peace  and  rest  for  many  a  changing 

year ; 

Not  rich,  but  riches  never  made  a  home  so  doubly  dear. 
The    spirit    of  the   olden   times,   that  blazed   so   bright   of 

yore. 

Had  died  away,  And  no  one  spoke  of  faith  or  honor  more  ; 
And  the  race  that  for  a  thousand  years  had  dwelt  within  the 

glen, 
Were  rudely  summoned  from  their  homes,  to  beg  as  broken 

men." 

It  was  a  day  of  extreme  winter  gloom  and 
storm.  In  Tasmer  there  was  nothing  to  be  done 
except  to  submit  to  the  tyranny  of  the  elements, 
and  to  make  the  best  of  such  sources  of  comfort 


Father  and  Son.  149 

and  amusement  as  were  to  be  obtained  within 
the  castle.  Sara  was  in  London,  and  Sir  Rolfe 
had  been  for  two  weeks  the  subject  of  singular 
mental  indecision  or  conflict.  He  had  rather 
avoided  than  sought  his  son's  society ;  and 
Donald  noticed  that  the  work  to  which  he  had 
been  so  earnestly  devoted  was  entirely 
neglected.  The  papers  and  estimates  lay  upon 
a  table  in  his  room,  but  he  did  not  refer  to  them 
in  any  way  when  they  were  together. 

Their  companionship  had  not  been  very  cheer 
ful.  The  two  men  had  no  subjects  of  mutual, 
engrossing  interest ;  and  each  was  aware  of  a 
certain  lack  of  confidence  in  the  other.  As  far 
as  Sir  Rolfe  was  concerned,  the  lack  was  pain 
ful  to  him.  He  had  looked  forward  with  pleas 
ure  to  the  hour  when  he  might  make  his  son  his 
coadjutor  and  friend.  Their  work  had  been 
laid  out  for  these  very  two  weeks  in  which  he 
had  felt  compelled  to  stand  still,  and  unable 
to  solicit  either  the  confidence  of  help  of 
Donald. 


150  Father  and  Son. 

Father  Matthew  was  the  man  that  troubled 
Torquil.  On  that  wet  night,  when  he  had 
walked  up  to  Tasmer  through  the  storm  to 
reason  with  him,  he  had  said  some  words  which 
had  made  Sir  Rolfe  very  uncomfortable  about 
his  projects.  Since  then  the  worldly  element 
and  the  religious  element  had  been  having  a 
fierce  struggle  in  his  heart.  He  was  not  a  man 
able  to  stand  between  two  opinions,  if  the  opin 
ions  were  of  any  moment  to  him  ;  and  he  was 
sure  that  until  he  was  quite  persuaded  in  his 
own  mind,  he  would  never  succeed  in  carrying 
out  his  wishes. 

So  the  papers  lay  upon  the  table,  and  he 
walked  up  and  down  and  argued  with  con 
science.  He  was  much  also  in  the  oratory ;  his 
regular  religious  duties  did  not  satisfy  his 
spiritual  scruples  ;  he  had  imposed  special  obser 
vances  upon  himself.  But  the  truth  was,  he 
looked  not  for  direction ;  he  did  not  want  to 
know  what  to  do.  He  had  made  up  his  mind 
what  to  do,  and  he  was  vainly  trying  to  stumble 


Father  and  Son.  151 

upon  something  which  would  justify  his  course 
to  his  own  heart.  And  he  had  two  weeks  of 
uncertainty,  and  of  specious  reasoning,  ere  he 
came  to  the  moment  in  which  he  said  firmly,  and 
without  a  shadow  of  regret : 

"  I  will  do  it.  A  man's  first  duty  is  to  those  of 
his  own  household." 

The  decision  was  arrived  at  early  in  the  morn. 
He  had  just  risen  from  his  prayers.  He  was  in 
the  clearest  and  calmest  of  mental  moods.  He 
was  devoid  of  all  irritations,  physical  and 
domestic.  The  resolution  sprung  up  in  a 
moment,  matured,  firm,  certain.  No  pity,  no 
doubt,  troubled  the  new-born  conclusion.  He 
was  surprised  they  ever  should  have  done  so. 
He  wondered  where  such  weakness  had  come 
from,  and  equally  where  it  had  gone  to.  Alas! 
It  is  not  always  the  angel  can  strive.  There 
comes  a  moment  when  a  man  is  permitted  to 
take  his  own  way. 

He  walked  to  the  table  and  put  his  hand  upon 
the  plan  of  the  Tasmer  estate.  Never  had  he 


152  Father  and  Son. 

opened  it  with  such  pride  and  affection.  He 
spread  it  wide,  and  stood  looking  at  it.  Nothing 
else  was  required  to  confirm  all  his  will.  He 
was  even  conscious  of  a  sudden  and  quite 
remarkable  access  of  pride  in  his  heritage,  and 
of  affection  for  the  honors  pertaining  to  so  long 
a  succession.  The  gloom  of  the  day,  the  storm 
raging  on  the  ocean  below  him,  the  wailing  of 
the  great  winds  through  the  firs,  added  a  somber 
grandeur  to  the  moment,  and  in  some  way  made 
a  sympathetic  atmosphere  of  the  stern  realities 
of  his  thoughts. 

After  breakfast  he  sent  for  his  son ;  and  Donald 
knew  as  soon  as  he  entered  the  room,  that  some 
decisive  hour  had  arrived.  Sir  Rolfe  was  stand 
ing  on  the  hearth,  and  he  looked  as  he  might 
have  looked  when  he  kept  the  Kyber  Pass  with 
a  handful  of  men  around  him  and  only  two 
words  in  his  mouth — "No  surrender"  He  put 
out  his  fine  white  hand  and  clasped  Donald's 
hand,  hard  and  brown  with  handling  of  oars  and 
the  tan  ot  the  salt  sea  wind. 


Father  and  Son.  153 

"  Good  morning,  Donald.  I  want  to  talk  with 
you.  I  have  come  to  a  point  in  which  I  need 
your  help.  Let  us  sit  down." 

His  manner  was  affectionate,  but  tinged  with 
an  air  of  authority  which  Donald  always  found 
it  difficult  to  resist.  He  walked  to  the  table, 
took  from  it  the  Tasmer  map  and  laid  it  open  on 
a  small  stand  between  them.  Donald  was  well 
acquainted  with  the  history  of  the  family,  and 
Sir  Rolfe  touched  no  longer  upon  it  than  he 
judged  necessary  to  rouse  the  younger  man's 
pride  and  interest.  But  he  spoke  more  fully  and 
feelingly  on  the  poverty  of  the  house  during 
the  past  four  generations. 

"  If  we  had  only  been  sensible  and  declared 
for  the  German  house  in  A.  D.  1745,  we  had 
been  Earls  of  Ross,"  he  said,  with  some  bitter 
ness. 

"  They  that  were  before  us,  father,  did  the 
duty  of  their  day.  You  and  I  would  have  done 
the  same." 

*'  I  should  never  have  gone  with  the  Stuarts." 


154  Father  and  Son. 

"  The  Stuarts,  however  unworthily,  repre 
sented  the  true  faith.  You  would  have  ranged 
yourself  on  that  side,  I  am  sure,  father." 

"  Let  the  Stuarts  pass.  The  family  we  have  to 
consider  is  the  Torquils.  We  are  poor,  and  we 
ought  to  be  rich.  We  have  a  rental  of  six  thou 
sand  pounds,  and  we  ought,  in  bare  honesty  to 
ourselves,  to  have  a  rental  of  twenty  thousand 
pounds.  The  rental  ought  to  increase  every 
year.  If  we  follow  out  Simon  Lovat's  plans,  we 
shall  be  rich  in  ten  years.  We  may  become  a 
political  power,  and  by  a  judicious  selection  of 
party  and  persons,  recover  our  earldom.  Then 
we  will  rebuild  Eilan  Donan  and  rule  in  Kintail 
as  our  fathers  did." 

Donald  was  young  and  enthusiastic,  and  his 
bright,  eager  face  answered  the  steady  glow  of 
enthusiasm  which  made  Sir  Rolfe  potent  enough 
to  realize  all  his  ambition. 

"  Examine  this  map,  Donald.  Glen  Mohr  can 
be  rented  to  Maclane  for  two  thousand  pounds  a 
year.  Torquil  woods  for  nearly  an  equal  sum. 


Father  and  Son.  155 

All  the  moors  and  hills  back  of  them  must  be 
put  under  sheep.  Tasmer  braes  will  alone  feed 
a  flock  of  three  thousand." 

"The  people  of  Easter-Torquil  have  always 
grazed  their  cattle  on  the  braes.  Will  your  plan 
interfere  with  them  ?" 

"  They  will  interfere  with  me ;  very  seriously 
interfere  with  me ;  and  I  intend  to  resume  my 
rights  this  year." 

"  Have  they  not,  also,  some  rights  in  the 
braes  ?" 

"  None  whatever.  Each  cotter  rents  from  me 
his  house,  and  five  to  ten  acres  of  land  ;  he  rents 
year  by  year.  Some  foolish  Torquil  permitted 
them  to  graze  their  cattle  and  sheep  on  the 
braes,  and  they  have  gone  on  doing  so,  until  they 
take  as  a  right  what  was  originally  a  favor.  I 
want  the  braes  for  my  own  sheep  now." 

"  I  am  afraid  they  will  think  your  resumption 
of  the  land  very  unkind — in  fact,  a  great  wrong." 

"  1  am  prepared  lor  that.  At  the  first  whisper 
of  my  intention,  they  took  their  grievance  to 


156  Father  and  Son. 

Father  Contach.  Greatly  to  my  surprise,  he 
stands  with  them ;  and  he  came  up  here  one 
night — came  through  a  rain-storm  to  make  me 
very  uncomfortable.  Since  then,  I  have  fully 
considered  the  course  I  intend  to  pursue,  and  I 
have  satisfied  myself  that  I  am  doing  quite 
right." 

"  If  they  refuse  to  give  up  grazing  their  cattle 
on  the  braes  ?" 

"  I  shall  then  refuse  to  rent  them  cottages  and 
crofts.  They  acknowledge  that  the  grazing 
claim  is  contingent  upon  the  possession  of  the 
crofts  and  cottages  which  I  rent  them.  Very 

well,  then  ;  I  shall  not  rent  them  cottages — " 

• 

"  But,  father,  they  have  lived  in  Eastern-Tor- 
quil  as  long  as  we  have  lived  in  Tasmer.  They 
bear  our  name.  They  share  our  blood.  Their 
ancestors  stood  by  ours  through  many  a  cen 
tury.  But  for  their  bravery,  the  Macdonalds 
had  long  ago  driven  us  from  our  lands." 

"  The  Macdonalds  have  to  mind  the  law  now." 
"  Ay ;  but  the  Macdonalds  burned  us  out  in 


Father  and  Son.  157 

1539.  It  was  under  Donald  Gorm.  Then  the 
bravery  of  these  men's  ancestors  won  back  our 
house  and  land." 

"  The  Torquil  led  them,  sir.  They  were  his 
clan  by  inheritance,  bound  to  follow  him,  bound 
to  fight  for  him." 

"  Nay,  lather,  the  clans  were  originally  owners- 
in-common  of  the  soil  of  their  native  district. 
They  elected  their  chief.  Even  down  to  the 
days  of  Culloden  the  clans  enrolled  themselves 
under  one  or  other  of  their  feudal  nobility,  as 
they  preferred.  They  always  had  a  right  in 
the  land  which  their  arms  conquered  and 
preserved." 

"  You  are  going  too  far  back,  Donald.  It  is  a 
far  cry  even  to  Culloden.  We  are  talking  of 
the  nineteenth  century." 

"Justice  is  not  altered  by  the  lapse  of  time." 

"  Donald,  I  can  allow  a  great  deal  for  the 
romantic  notions  of  a  young  man,  but  I  have  not 
the  inclination  to  discuss  questions  which  affect 
us  no  more  than  what  is  going  on  in  Jupiter.  It 


158  Father  and  Son. 

will  be  your  business  to  call  together  the 
crofters  of  Torquil  and  Easter-Torquil,  and  also 
the  ten  families  in  Glen  Mohr,  and  try  and 
induce  them  to  return  peaceably  the  land  so  long 
loaned  them.  They  must  be  made  to  under 
stand  that  there  is  no  law  in  Scotland  to  prevent 
my  resuming  possession  of  my  crofts  and 
cottages,  and,  consequently,  of  all  grazing 
privileges." 

"  If  they  refuse  ?" 

"  They  must  leave  this  part  of  the  country. 
That  is  the  only  alternative.  The  whole  of 
Tasmer  is  going  under  sheep,  except  the  deer 
forests.  I  should  prefer  to  have  them  leave. 
Indeed,  I  do  not  see  what  the  people  in  Easter- 
Torquil  can  do  else.  They  are  not  fishers,  and 
without  grazing-land  they  cannot  be  farmers. 
As  soon  as  the  weather  permits,  I  wish  you  to 
see  them.  Explain  the  matter  as  kindly  as  pos 
sible,  but  let  them  understand  clearly  nothing  can 
alter  my  intentions.  The  tie  between  us  must 


Father  and  Son.  159 

be  broken,  but  I  wish  it  broken  as  gently  as 
possible." 

<:I  am  sorry  to  disobey  you,  father,  but  there 
is  absolutely  nothing  in  life  which  would  make 
me  tell  an  honest,  pious,  hard-working  Torquil 
to  leave  the  land." 

"  Do  you  think  you  are  wiser  and  better  than 
all  the  Highland  gentlemen  who  have  followed, 
or  who  are  about  to  follow  this  course  ?  Tor 
quil  braes  will  carry  three  thousand  black-faced 
wedders,  but  how  can  I  feed  my  sheep  if  every 
cotter  in  Torquil  puts  his  also  on  them  ?  Prop 
erty  has  its  rights,  Donald." 

"  Property  has  its  duties,  also,  father.  How 
could  I  go  and  tell  Rory  Mackenzie  to  take  his 
twenty  sheep  off  the  braes  ?  The  thing  is  impos 
sible  1" 

"  Well,  sir,  then  the  sheriff  must  do  your  duty. 
He  may  do  it  less  kindly,  but  your  pride  and 
feelings  will  be  spared." 

"  Even  as  a  matter  of  prudence,  father — " 

"  What  do  you  know  of  prudence  ?     Lovat's 


160  Father  and  Son. 

maxim  is  the  true  one  in  this  case — when  it  will 
pay  a  landlord  to  turn  cultivated  land  into  a 
sheep-run,  or  a  deer  forest,  the  land  never  ought 
to  have  been  cultivated  at  all.  You  know  well 
how  much  there  is  to  do  every  winter  for  the 
cottagers.  They  are  cold,  hungry,  sick,  and  it  is 
to  the  Torquii  they  come.  The  situation  is 
demoralizing  to  them,  and  unjust  to  me.  It  is 
high  time  we  stepped  out  of  the  middle  ages." 

"  But  there  should  be  some  preparation, 
some — " 

"  Donald,  there  is  nothing  more  tiresome  than 
a  man  who  persists  in  making  a  dead  idea  of 
himself." 

"  Are  justice,  kindness,  honesty,  dead  ideas  ?" 

"  Feudal  chivalry  and  romantic  self-denial  are. 
Lord  Macdonald  has  banished  the  peasants  of 
Sollas  at  sword-point.  Colonel  Gordon  removed 
every  crofter  from  Barra  and  Uist  by  legal  pro 
cess.  Breadalbane  has  turned  thirty  thousand 
of  his  acres  in  Glenorchy  into  a  hunting-park. 
Sutherland,  Argyle  and  Athol  are  doing  the 


Father  and  Son.  161 

same  thing  on  their  estates,  on  a  much  larger 
scale.  When  an  age  grasps  an  idea  and  resolves 
to  carry  it  out,  it  is  ridiculous  to  champion  one 
m  antagonism  to  it.  I  have  a  right  to  expect 
your  help  in  carrying  out  plans  which  are  so 
important,  not  only  to  yourself,  but  which 
embody  the  welfare  of  those  who  are  to  follow 
you.  In  our  position,  it  is  a  shame  to  only  con 
sider  personal  likes  and  dislikes.  A  true  noble 
man  looks  backward  and  forward  both  ;  only 
the  peasant  soul  begins  and  ends  all  controver 
sies  with  and  in  himself." 

He  spoke  with  an  air  of  grieved  melancholy, 
and  Donald  felt  unable  to  put  into  speech  the 
passions  which  made  such  a  turmoil  in  his 
breast.  Perhaps  indignation  that  he  had  been 
selected  as  the  tool  of  oppression  was  the  most 
dominant  feeling.  He  had  spent  a  part  of 
nearly  every  year  of  his  life  at  Tasmer;  he  had 
visited  in  the  cottages,  been  petted  by  the  old 
men  and  women,  gone  on  the  hills  with  the 
hunters,  been  taken  by  the  fishermen  in  their 


1 6*  Father  and  Son. 

boats.  Sir  Rolfe,  who  had  been  educated  in  a 
French  seminary,  and  passed  from  it  into  the 
army,  had  no  such  intimate  knowledge  of  the 
Torquil  peasants.  To  him  they  were  simply 
tenants,  with  some  very  indefinite  and  undesira 
ble  claim  upon  him  because  of  relationships  in 
the  past ;  and  in  his  heart  he  regarded  this  claim 
as  far  more  of  a  nuisance  than  a  pleasure.  A 
tenantry  of  peasants  who  were  not  Torquils, 
who  would  treat  him  with  less  affection  and 
more  subservience,  would  much  better  suit  that 
taste  for  power  which  military  authority  had 
developed  in  him. 

Yet,  in  deputing  the  task  of  warning  the 
people  of  the  new  order  of  things  to  Donald, 
Sir  Rolfe  had  no  desire  to  shirk  unpleasantness 
for  himself.  He  could  have  sent  the  factor  as 
his  representative,  but  he  really  wished  to  give 
a  more  kindly  air  to  what  he  knew  was  an 
unkind  proceeding,  and  also  to  divest  the  move 
ment  of  that  element  of  law  so  offensive  to  the 
Highlandman.  He  wanted  his  own  way  peace- 


Father  and  Son.  163 

ably,  and  he  believed  that  Donald  would  not  be 
opposed,  where  the  factor  or  sheriff  might  come 
very  badly  off.  Donald,  however,  was  stubborn 
in  his  opposition. 

"  If  this  sorrow  must  come  to  our  people,"  he 
said,  "  do  not  make  me  the  bearer  of  it.  I 
cannot  do  it,  sir.  I  might,  indeed,  deliver  your 
words  to  these  poor  friends  oi  mine ;  but  if  they 
wept,  I  should  weep  with  them,  and  if  they 
were  angry,  my  heart  would  burn  with  theirs." 

"  Some  fathers  would  bitterly  resent  such  a 
speech,  sir.  1  have  been  much  among  young 
men.  I  know  their  illusions  and  affectations, 
their  impulsiveness  and  assurance,  their  quixotic 
ideas  of  generosity  and  equity.  Twenty  years 
old  has  a  standard  of  right  and  wrong  which 
belongs  to  twenty  years.  At  fifty  you  will 
smile  at  your  own  folly,  and  be  very  grateful  to 
me  ior  the  decided  step  I  am  taking  to-day. 
Take  the  world  as  it  is,  sir,  and  not  as  it  ought 
to  be  in  your  opinion.  You  are  probably  wrong 


164  Father  and  Son. 

on  every  point,  if  you  can  imagine  yourself 
wrong." 

"  Father,  if  what  you  say  is  true,  and  Tasmer 
can  really  be  made  so  wealthy,  why  not  let  the 
Torquils  and  Mackenzies  remain  and  help  and 
share  in  the  new  developments.  Call  them 
together;  tell  them  as  you  have  told  me,  what 
the  forests  and  moors  can  be  rented  for.  Build 
on  the  seaside,  where  land  is  worth  nothing,  new 
cottages  for  those  who  must  remove  from  the 
hills.  Out  of  the  increased  rental,  surely  a  com 
pensation  could  be  given  them.  There  must  be 
some  way  ot  getting  all  this  good,  without  doing 
all  this  evil." 

"  Donald,  in  your  nurse's  arms  you  cried  for 
the  moon.  You  are  crying  for  it  again,  and  you 
are  as  likely  to  get  it  in  this  case,  as  you  were  in 
the  first." 

"  Then  excuse  me,  this  morning,  sir.  I  will 
think  over  what  you  have  said.  To-morrow  1 
will  give  you  an  answer." 

"  The    best    answer,  the   shortest   answer,  is 


Father  and  Son. 


165 


doing  the  thing  you  are  asked  to  do.  Let  me 
assure  you,  I  shall  not  change  my  purpose.  If 
you  agree  to  work  with  me,  I  shall  be  glad ;  if 
not,  Lovat  and  I  are  both  determined.  That 
which  two  will  takes  effect.  Good  morning, 
sir." 


CHAPTER    IX. 

FATHER    MATTHEW   FOR  THE   PEOPLE. 

Donald's  dismission  was  curt  and  authorita 
tive,  and  he  showed  plainly  his  sense  of  offence 
in  it.  He  saw  that  his  opposition  had  but  con 
firmed  Sir  Rolfe  in  his  intentions.  He  feared 
that  he  had  spoken  unwisely ;  perhaps  he  ought 
to  have  temporized,  have  yielded  a  little  here,  in 
order  that  he  might  have  gained  a  little  there ; 
that,  in  short,  compromise  would  have  served 
the  interests  of  all  better  than  reproaches  and 
opposition.  But  a  young  man  of  twenty-two, 
who  knows  how  to  arrange  his  cloak  to  suit  the 
wind,  is  simply  not  a  young  man  at  all. 

He  went  with  burning  cheeks  and  uplifted 
head  through  the  long,  shivery  passages,  and 
down  the  gloomy  stairs.  There  was  a  fire  burn- 


Father  Matthew  for  the  People.       167 

ing  in  the  main  hall,  but  the  sticks  were  green 
and  wet,  and  Fergus  was  growling  at  the  wrong 
wind  and  the  damp  air,  as  he  tried  in  various 
ways  to  coax  the  smoke  up  the  wide  chimney. 

"  There  is  not  a  screen  nor  a  draught  to  please 
the  fire  this  morning,  whateffer.  It  iss  out,  it 
will  haf  to  go.  A  fire  that  will  not  burn ;  it  is 
out,  it  will  have  to  go.  No  fire  at  all  will  be 
better  than  one  that  iss  smoking." 

Donald  scarcely  answered  the  old  man,  but 
his  words  made  an  unpleasant  impression  on 
him.  People  in  trouble  and  perplexity  are  apt 
to  go  back  to  augury  and  to  take  as  oracles  first 
utterances  and  signs.  So,  Donald  felt  that  as  no 
screen  or  draught  would  make  the  fire  burn,  no 
entreaties  or  arguments  would  make  Sir  Rolfe 
feel  as  he  felt.  The  fire  would  have  to  be  put 
out.  He  would  have  to  give  up  his  efforts. 
And,  if  no  fire  was  better  than  smoke,  so,  also, 
silence  would  be  better  than  hopeless  quar 
reling. 

Something  like  this  train  of  thought  was  in 


1 68      Father  Matthew  for  the  People. 

his  mind ;  but,  as  yet,  his  mind  was  only  a  whirl 
of  angry  and  sorrowful  thoughts.  He  longed 
for  Sara.  She  was  not  clever,  and  she  did  not 
always  agree  with  him,  but  they  talked  together 
on  terms  of  familiar  confidence.  While  reason 
ing  with  her  he  was  really  reasoning  with  him 
self,  and  he  generally  felt  satisfied  and  composed 
after  talking  over  any  event  with  her.  But, 
Sara  was  not  only  far  away,  she  was  engrossed, 
altogether  engrossed,  by  the  brilliant  life  she 
was  leading.  He  took  her  last  letter  and 
re-read  it.  Fine  dress,  fine  entertainments,  rich 
and  noble  lovers,  these  were  its  topics ;  and 
Donald  felt  how  useless  it  would  be  to  trouble 
her  gay  hours  with  his  own  perplexities  and 
sorrows. 

The  carry  of  the  storm  was  directly  north 
ward  ;  he  stood  mournfully  at  the  window  and 
watched  it.  The  rain,  driven  furiously  before  a 
mad  wind,  was  streaming  through  the  air  in  dis 
ordered  ranks  ;  the  clouds  were  flying  rapidly 
in  great  grotesque  masses,  touching  the  tops  of 


Father  Matthew  for  the  People.       1 69 

the  fir-trees  like  a  gloomy  veil ;  the  black  ocean 
was  tossing  and  raging  as  if  a  battle  were  going 
on  among  its  billows.  His  thoughts,  fleeter 
than  the  wind,  yet  troubled  as  the  waters,  flew 
swiftly  to  the  small  gray  manse  at  Ellerloch. 
How  well  he  could  see  the  girl  he  loved  in  it ! 
Her  handsome  face  grave  'and  tender  with 
thoughts  of  him.  Her  slim,  tall  figure,  her  busy 
hands,  her  pleasant  voice — not  he  who  raised 
the  shade  of  Helen  had  a  greater  power  than 
this  true  lover,  for  he  thought  of  Roberta  until 
she  seemed  present  with  him;  until  the  thought 
like  an  actual  presence  soothed  and  comforted 
him. 

The  letter  brought  by  Angus  had  been  his 
last  communication  from  her.  For  two  weeks 
he  had  been  unable  to  send  any  message ;  the 
wind  had  been  so  constantly  adverse,  that  even 
Angus  had  been  afraid  to  risk  the  journey.  But 
Donald  was  not  troubled  by  any  of  the  doubts 
or  silly  jealousies  that  some  lovers  delight  in 
encouraging.  He  trusted  Roberta  as  he  trusted 


J  70      Father  Matthew  for  the  People. 

himself.  He  knew  that  she  understood  how 
rare  and  precious  communication  must  be  ;  and 
it  had  been  decided  that  letters  by  the  ordinary 
mail  would  be  useless  and  irritating- — the  village 
postmaster  being  a  deacon  in  Mr.  Balfour's 
church — a  man  who  neither  for  gold  nor  pity 
would  favor  love  disallowed  by  a  parent  on 
such  religious  grounds. 

Still  he  did  write  to  her.  It  was  impossible 
to  bind  affection  so  strong  in  bands  of  silence. 
He  told  her  of  his  love,  his  hopes  and  doubts 
and  loneliness,  in  long,  long  epistles,  which  were 
dated  and  put  away,  until  the  happy  oppor 
tunity  came  for  sending  them.  Angus  was 
watching  for  it ;  he  had  the  precious  packet  in 
his  possession ;  the  boat  was  ready  to  slip  her 
anchor  at  the  first  flurry  of  favorable  wind,  and 
toward  sundown  there  appeared  a  prospect  of 
it.  In  the  west  there  was  a  streak  of  crimson  ; 
the  wind  had  fallen  and  shifted  southerly  ;  the 
rain  was  nearly  over.  Donald  hastily  finished 
the  letter  in  hand,  and  went  down  to  the  village 


Father  Matthew  for  the  People.       171 

to  give  it  to  Angus,  for  he  thought  it  likely  he 
could  leave  with  the  turn  of  the  tide. 

He  fancied  that  Helen  Mackenzie  received 
him  with  constraint ;  that  even  Angus  was  not 
quite  like  himself.  How  could  he  expect  it,  if 
they  had  heard  of  Sir  Rolfe's  intentions?  And 
how  were  they  to  know  that  he  was  not  to 
blame  in  the  matter  ?  Yet  he  could  not  defend 
himself  without  blaming  Sir  Rolfe,  and  he  did 
not  dare,  without  good  reason,  to  hurry  any 
such  justification.  On  his  return  to  the  castle, 
he  called  at  the  rectory  to  see  Father  Contach, 
for  Helen  Mackenzie's  coolness  wounded  him 
very  much,  and  he  felt  the  need  of  comfort  and 
advice. 

The  father  heard  him  silently  and  patiently, 
his  white,  intellectual  face  growing  finer  as  hs 
listened.  Once,  when  Donald  alluded  to  the 
removal  of  the  whole  people,  his  cheeks  crim 
soned,  but  he  instantly  laid  his  hand  over  the 
cross  upon  his  breast,  and  suffered  not  himself 
to  speak.  Indeed,  after  Donald  had  ceased,  the 


I  72       Father  Matthew  for  the  People. 

silence  was  for  some  minutes  unbroken;  but 
the  young  man  understood  the  pause,  and 
communed  solemnly  with  his  own  heart  during  it. 
With  a  sigh,  Father  Matthew  lifted  his  head 
and  looked  at  Donald.  He  sympathized  keenly 
with  his  sense  of  shame  and  wrong,  but  it  was 

r- 

his  duty  to  assume  the  calmness  he  was  very  far 
from  feeling. 

"  My  son,  what  is  your  anger  about  ?"  he 
asked.  "  Because  you  are  likely  to  be  spoken 
evil  of  when  you  do  not  deserve  it.  It  is 
indeed,  mortifying  to  your  sensitive  nature,  but 
one  of  the  best  penances  which  the  heart  can 
offer  is  to  endure  a  continual  cross  and  abnega 
tion  of  self-love." 

"  Is  it  right  for  me  to  be  made  the  tool  of 
oppression  ?  No ;  I  will  not  disgrace  my 
manhood  by  turning  these  people  out  ol  their 
homes.  They  have  as  much  right  to  them  as  I 
have." 

"  Stop,  Donald.  Can  they  show  any  legal 
right  to  them  ?  Alas  !  No." 


Father  Matthew  for  the  People.       173 

"  Because  they  trusted  to  the  Torquil,  they 
have  the  moral  right.  Is  not  that  sufficient  ?" 

"  If  this  earth  were  Heaven,  if  God's  kingdom 
had  come,  if  His  will  were  done,  the  moral  right 
would  be  the  strongest  of  all  rights." 

"  I  cannot  rest,  Father.  Helen  Mackenzie  has 
made  me  thoroughly  miserable.  Come  with  me 
to  Tasmer,  and  speak  to  Sir  Rolfe  for  me." 

"  Yes ;  I  will  go.  I  have  spoken  once.  I  will 
speak  again.  I  did  not  think  the  matter  was  to 
be  hurried  on  so  rapidly." 

"  The  families  in  Easter-Torquil  are  to  be 
warned  to  leave  at  Whitsuntide.  There  are 
thirty-six  families,  numbering  nearly  two  hun 
dred  people  ;  what  is  to  become  of  them  ?  Per 
haps  I  ought  to  speak  to  them  ;  will  they  give 
up  the  grazing  if  I  ask  them?" 

"  They  cannot  live  without  grazing-land. 
They  have  not  the  sea  to  help  them  when  the 
soil  fails.  To  refuse  them  grazing  is  virtually  to 
expel  them  from  their  cottages  and  crofts. 


1 74      Father  Matthew  for  the  People. 

There  is  no  need  to  serve  them  with  a  notice  of 
dispossession." 

"  I  know,  and  they  are  our  own  race  and 
blood.  They  won  the  lands  we  call  ours  to-day. 
Father,  you  must  prevent  this  great  wrong.  Sir 
Rolfe  is  at  present  under  the  influence  of  Simon 
Lovat ;  he  is  not  hard-hearted.  He  loves  piety 
and  virtue.  He  will  listen  to  you  who  are  his 
guide  and  confessor." 

"  Alas,  my  son !  They  who  listen  not  to  the 
witness  which  is  within  every  man's  breast  are 
not  likely  to  heed  either  the  law  or  the  proph 
ets  ;  no,  nor  yet  listen,  though  one  came  from 
the  dead.  I  hope  that  you  were  patient  and 
respectful  to  Sir  Rolfe ;  reproaches  will  only 
make  him  more  determined  to  carry  out  his 
plans  in  spite  of  you." 

"  I  was  angry,  but  I  said  little.  It  was  hard  to 
be  patient,  and  I  fear  I  shall  not  be  able  to 
restrain  myself  when  we  speak  again." 

"  Hide   the  cross   of   our    Lord    within   your 


Father  Matthew  for  the  People.       i  75 

breast.  As  long  as  you  firmly  clasp  it  in  your 
hand,  surely  the  enemy  will  be  at  your  feet." 

As  he  spoke  they  left  the  rectory  together. 
The  night  was  dark  and  the  walk  was  not  a  cheer 
ful  one.  The  drops  of  rain  from  the  firs  wet 
them  like  a  shower,  and  the  wind  ran  through 
the  old  trees  with  those  pitiful,  sinister  wails  it 
learns  one  knows  not  where.  The  old  gray 
castle  looked  unusually  gloomy.  There  was  the 
dull  glow  of  the  fire  in  the  parlor,  but  all  the 
windows  up-stairs,  except  those  in  the  Torquil's 
room,  were  blank  and  dark.  Fergus  was  long 
in  coming  to  open  the  door.  He  had  been  in  the 
kitchen  discussing  with  the  women  the  strange, 
sad  news  which  had  only  just  become  known  to 
them.  When  he  saw  Father  Matthew,  he  prob 
ably  divined  on  what  errand  of  mercy  he  had 
come  ;  for  he  looked  into  his  face  and  then  sud 
denly  covered  his  eyes  and  began  to  cry  like  a 
child. 

Donald  could  not  bear  it.  He  bent  his  head, 
and  his  mouth  was  twitching  with  suppressed 


1 76      Father  Matthew  for  the  People. 

emotion.  He  did  not  wait  to  hear  what  request 
the  old  man  was  making  amid  his  passionate 
sobs.  He  knew  that  he  had  daughters  and 
grandchildren  in  Easter-Torquil,  and  that  his 
son  farmed  and  fished  in  the  village  below  ;  and 
he  understood  the  anxiety  and  fear  that  were  in 
his  heart.  But  he  would  not  wait  to  hear  it 
voiced,  lest  he  should  speak  words  that  he  might 
regret ;  and  so,  lifting  a  candle  hastily,  he  went 
to  his  room.  The  fire  had  been  allowed  to  go 
out.  Donald  never  remembered  such  inatten 
tion  before.  It  said  more  to  him  than  any  words 
of  complaint  could  have  done.  Fergus  must 
indeed  have  been  utterly  miserable  to  neglect  a 
duty  so  necessary  to  his  comfort. 

Indeed,  Fergus  had  never  before  known  such 
sorrow.  The  Celt  has  many  faults,  but  he  has  a 
heart  overflowing  with  the  tenderest  domestic 
affections.  He,  of  all  fathers  on  the  earth,  can 
best  understand  that  passionate  wish  of  Hebrew 
parental  woe — "  Oh,  my  son  !  Would  to  God 
that  I  had  died  for  thee  1"  Fergus  could  not 


Father  Matthew  for  the  People.       177 

endure  the  thought  of  his  children  and  their 
babies — wanderers,  seeking  a  home.  He  felt 
that  at  least  he  must  share  their  sorrow  and 
desolation ;  and  yet  he  had  been  fifty  years  in 
Tasmer,  and  it  was  no  light  personal  grief  to 
break  bonds  of  such  long  growth,  and  to  forsake 
the  roof  that  had  been,  in  the  main,  such  a  happy 
shelter. 

He  said  not  a  word  of  this  condition  of  affairs, 
but  the  almost  childlike  condition  of  helplessness 
and  griel  in  the  old  man's  face  was  sufficient. 
Father  Matthew  understood  it  all,  and  the  good 
priest  went  into  the  presence  of  the  master  of 
Tasmer  with  a  heart  burning  with  just  anger. 
Sir  Rolfe  was  sitting  brooding  over  the  fire. 
Occasionally  he  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  open  door 
of  the  oratory,  whispering,  when  he  did  so,  some 
audible  prayer ;  for  in  the  faintly  lit  gloom  the 
great  white  cross  was  solemnly  visible. 

It  was  the  first  object  that  met  Father  Mat 
thew's  vision,  and  with  a  rapid  step  he  passed 
Sir  Rolfe,  and  for  a  few  moments  silently  pros- 


j  78      Father  Matthew  for  the  People. 

trated  himself  in  that  silent  presence.  His  face 
was  almost  as  pale  as  the  lifted  cross  when  he 
re-entered  the  room  and  set  his  chair  upon  the 
hearth,  and  Sir  Rolfe  was  compelled  to  notice 
the  intense  feeling  in  the  usually  placid  coun 
tenance. 

The  subject  was  immediately  opened,  and 
with  an  indisputable  affection  and  authority,  the 
priest  pleaded  for  his  little  congregation.  He 
went  over  the  arguments  which  Donald  had 
suggested  but  not  dared  to  press.  He  spoke  of 
the  Highlander's  intense  love  for  his  own  land. 

"  They  cling  to  these  bens  and  straths  like 
Alpine  trees  to  their  rocks,"  he  said.  "  How  can 
you  tear  up  whole  families  by  their  roots,  and 
put  the  torch  to  so  many  happy,  pious  little 
homes?  They  are  dear  to  them  as  Tasmer  is  to 
you.  Is  not  one  little  Highland  child  worth  all 
the  land  in  Kintail  and  Lochaber?  You  are  a 
soldier,  Sir  Rolfe.  You  know  what  the  High 
land  soldier  is.  You  have  seen  the  42d  and  the 
93d  in  battle.  They  have  possessed  and  defended 


Father  Matthew  for  the  People.       1 79 


these  mountains  from  immemorial  time.  They 
have  filled  the  world  with  the  glory  of  their 
deeds.  Have  pity  on  your  comrades  in  arms ! 
They  are  the  children  of  the  Most  High.  Have 
pity  upon  those  who  kneel  at  the  same  altar 
with  you  ?" 

"  Father,  I  have  thought  of  all  these  things. 
The  past  is  past.  We  are  come  to  an  entirely 
new  era  of  development.  The  law  of  progress 
is  that  it  must  tread  under  foot  feelings  hitherto 
held  sacred.  These  people  have  lived  in  semi- 
barbarism  and  been  content  with  it.  When  the 
eagle  thinks  it  time  for  her  young  to  take  to 
their  own  wings  and  provide  for  themselves, 
she  tears  up  the  nest.  I,  and  you,  have  seen  the 
wise  birds  do  it.  If  I  now  destroy  these  anti 
quated  huts,  and  send  their  inhabitants  into  the 
world,  they  will  learn  that  life  has  objects  and 
hopes,  yes,  and  pleasures,  they  had  not  dreamed 
of.  In  a  few  years  they  will  thank  me.  I  can 
wait  for  my  justification." 

"  You  will  send  them  from  the  pure,  healthy 


1 80      Father  Matthew  for  the  People. 

life  of  these  ancient  hills,  to  the  great  cities, 
where  disease,  degradation,  poverty  and  death 
await  them.  The  oldest  men  and  women  among 
them  are  but  children — simple,  pious  children. 
They  are  not  fit  for  the  world.  Have  pity  on 
them  !" 

"  If  any  wish  to  go  to  Canada,  I  will  do  all  I 
can  to  help  them." 

"Are  you  able  to  send  them  all  together 
there  ?" 

"The  idea  is  absurd.  I  might  help  some 
young,  strong  fellow,  who  was  able  to  make 
good  use  of  help  ;  but — " 

"  Then  you  would  only  further  break  to 
pieces  the  shattered  homes.  William  Rufus 
brought  on  himself  a  violent  death  and  the  exe 
cration  of  centuries  for  depopulating  the  New 
Forest  in  order  to  make  a  hunting-park.  That 
was  an  act  done  in  days  of  cruelty  and  darkness. 
You  and  other  Highland  gentlemen,  in  an  age 
of  high  civilization,  are  about  to  turn  ten  coun 
ties  over  to  wild  animals.  Very  soon,  it  will  be 


Father  Matthew  for  the  People.       181 

forests  from  the  south  border  of  Perthshire  to 
the  sea-board  of  Ross.  From  Deeside  to  Spey- 
side  we  shall  find  nothing  but  deer;  no  men,  no 
women,  no  children,  no  homes." 

"  Father,  I  do  not  interfere  in  your  affairs." 

"  But  you  would  have  the  right  to  interfere 
in  them  if  I  were  to  violate  my  duty  as  you  are 
now  violating  yours.  Every  peasant  in  Torquil 
would  have  the  right  to  call  me  to  account." 

"  Listen  to  me.  There  is  right  on  my  side, 
also." 

"  Surely,  I  will  listen." 

"  I  have  immense  deer  forests.  Hitherto  they 
have  been  lying  idle.  I  can  make  six  thousand 
pounds  a  year  out  of  them  alone.  Have  I  not 
the  right  to  make  it  ?" 

"  What  harm  do  the  few  crofters  do  on  the 
fringe  of  these  forests?" 

"  They  are  forever  quarreling  with  game 
keepers,  and  forever  claiming  rights  on  the  hills 
which  disturb  the  deer.  These  shooting-ranges 
will  be  let  entirely  to  rich  Englishmen.  They 


1 82      Father  Matthew  for  the  People. 

have  none  of  our  traditional  interest  in  the 
peasantry  and  the  clans ;  but  they  have  all  an 
Englishman's  ideas  with  regard  to  the  sacred- 
ness  of  property.  They  will  not  rent  a  shooting 
unless  these  troublesome  peasants,  with  their 
antiquated  notions  of  their  own  dignity  and 
rights,  are  removed.  Father,  your  ideas  would 
disorganize  society;  they  are  simply  socialistic." 

"  And  I  am  a  socialist  in  the  sense  in  which 
Christ  Jesus  taught  socialism.  So  is  every 
priest  at  the  altar.  So  is  every  religieuse  in  our 
fraternities  and  sisterhoods.  He  allowed  only 
one  claim  to  power :  that  of  a  man  serving  his 
fellows.  '  Let  him  that  would  be  first  among 
you  be  servant  of  all.' " 

"You  are  my  friend,  my  counselor  and  my 
confessor.  In  matters  of  piety  I  defer  entirely 
to  you.  In  worldly  matters,  Father,  you  are  not 
able  to  judge  for  me.  Are  you  not  in  the  world, 
yet  not  of  the  world  ?  A  living  man,  and  yet,  aa 
regards  all  that  makes  daily  life,  a  dead  man  ?" 

"  No,  no,  no !     It  is  you,  Sir  Rolfe,  that  are 


Father  Matthew  for  the  People.       183 

dead."  Then,  passing  quickly  to  within  the 
door  of  the  oratory,  he  stretched  out  his  arms  to 
the  Christ  upon  the  cross,  and  cried  out  in  an 
ecstasy:  "/  live ;  yet  not  /,  but  Christ  liveth  in 
me/" 

Sir  Rolfe  was  profoundly  affected,  but  he  was 
not  convinced.  He  rose,  and  taking  the  priest's 
hands  said  humbly  : 

"  Do  not  judge  me  with  severity.  My  inten 
tions  are  good.  I  have  heard  you  say  there  is 
no  sin  without  intention.  One  of  the  dearest 
objects  I  have  is  to  rebuild  and  to  beautify  the 
church  at  Torquil." 

"  Alas !  Alas !  Can  you  give  stone  and  mor 
tar  as  a  ransom  for  the  souls  of  men  ?  For  the 
living  stones  you  are  going  to  pull  down  and 
break  in  pieces  and  scatter  abroad  ?" 

He  went  away  with  the  words ;  leaving  the 
master  of  Tasmer  to  ponder  the  solemn  question 
he  had  asked. 


CHAPTER   X. 

THE  MINISTER'S  INTERFERENCE. 

"  Love  gives  esteem,  and  then  he  gives  desert ;  he  either 
finds  equality  or  makes  it." 

"  To  ,be  heavenly  is  to  know  that  the  commonest  relations, 
the  most  vulgar  duties,  are  God's  commands." 

"  Respect  we  owe,  love  we  give,  and  men  mostly  would 
rather  give  than  pay." 

There  are  times  in  every  life  when  it  seems 
best  to  cease  reasoning  about  events,  and  let  cir 
cumstances  decide  for  us.  Sara  Torquil,  after 
some  weeks  of  triumphant  social  success,  and 
private  heart-aching,  doubts  and  fears,  came  one 
morning  in  a  certain  way  to  this  conclusion. 
Her  entrance  into  London  fashionable  life  had 
been  made  under  very  favorable  circumstances. 


The  Ministers  Interference.         185 

Lady  Moidart  belonged  to  a  set  the  most  exclu 
sive,  and  her  radiantly  lovely  niece  was  at  once 
the  fashionable  beauty  ol  the  season.  When  she 
arrived  in  London  she  iound  her  advent  had 
been  chronicled  in  somewhat  extravagant  terms, 
and  she  could  not  help  looking  with  a  great  deal 
of  interest  through  the  number  of  the  Court 
Journal  which  had  done  her  this  honor. 

She  saw  also  in  it  a  mention  of  Lord  Lenox's 
movements  ;  it  was  quite  evident  he  was  taking 
his  full  share  in  the  festivities  of  the  world  in 
which  he  moved.  Her  cheeks  glowed  and  her 
eyes  grew  luminous  as  she  reflected  that  he 
would  in  all  probability  learn  that  morning  of 
her  arrival  in  London.  He  was  a  favorite  of 
Lady  Moidart's,  and  accustomed  to  visit  at  her 
house  ;  she  was,  therefore,  certain  that  he  would 
call  upon  them  at  once. 

With  the  greatest  care  she  arrayed  herself  in 
the  pale-blue  tints  he  approved,  and  which  cer 
tainly  gave  a  marvelous  charm  to  the  exquisite 
coloring  of  her  complexion  and  the  crown  of  red- 


i86          The  Ministers  Interference. 

brown  hair  which  was  a  glory  to  her.  So  rest 
less,  so  happy  with  expectation  was  she !  Yet 
she  forced  herself  to  sit  with  apparent  calmness 
at  her  embroidery  frame — forced  herself  to 
attend  to  Lady  Moidart's  plans,  and  even  to 
take  an  interest  in  them,  though  she  was  listen 
ing  with  all  her  soul,  at  every  clang  of  the 
door-bell,  tor  the  sound  of  steps,  which,  how 
ever  light  upon  the  thick  carpets,  she  was  cer 
tain  she  would  be  able  to  detect. 

Many  visitors  came,  but  Lenox  came  not. 
Hour  after  hour  passed,  the  whole  da}7  went, 
the  evening  also.  He  did  not  call,  and  he  did 
not  send  either  an  apology  or  a  message  of  con 
gratulation.  Lady  Moidart  never  noticed  the 
omission.  It  appeared  to  Sara  as  if  she  talked 
of  every  one  but  Lord  Lenox.  For  a  whole 
week  she  endured  this  silent  alternation  of  hope 
and  despair.  Every  morning  brought  the  hope, 
every  night  the  despair.  She  did  not  meet  him 
in  the  Row,  nor  see  him  at  the  opera,  and  as  she 
was  to  be  presented  the  following  week,  it  had 


The  Ministers  Interference.         187 

been 'decided  that  she  should  accept  no  invita 
tions  until  her  homage  at  court  had  been  paid. 

Very  often  she  was  on  the  point  of  mention 
ing  his  name  to  Lady  Moidart,  but  a  delicate 
reserve  about  a  matter  so  personal  always  sealed 
her  lips  when  the  actual  words  were  to  be 
spoken.  At  length  one  Sunday  night  he  was 
announced.  It  was  just  at  dark  when  Lady 
Moidart  was  half  asleep  upon  a  sofa.  Sara  was 
at  the  window  looking  thoughtfully  into  the 
gloomy  square.  She  had  not  heard  the  bell ; 
she  had  ceased  to  expect  him.  His  entrance 
was  so  unexpected  that  she  could  scarcely  speak 
the  few  words  of  courtesy  necessary.  He  was 
perfectly  calm,  and  apparently  as  indifferent  as 
if  they  had  never  met  before. 

He  paid  his  respects  to  Lady  Moidart  and 
then  turned  to  Sara  with  outstretched  hand. 
As  she  took  it  his  eyes  sought  hers,  and  she  was 
compelled  to  endure  that  questioning  look  of 
tenderness  in  them  which  she  knew  so  well. 
She  dropped  her  white  lids  to  hide  the  tremu- 


1 88          The  Minister's  Interference. 

lous  joy  which  it  was  out  of  her  power  to  con 
trol.  She  forgot,  she  forgave  his  dilatory 
notice  of  her  arrival,  she  tried,  as  loving  women 
ever  try,  to  be  fair  and  sweet  in  his  eyes. 

Yet,  his  whole  visit,  when  she  reviewed  it,, 
pained  her  deeply.  He  suffered  Lady  Moidart 
to  talk  of  plans  and  parties  which  entirely 
ignored  him,  and  he  made  no  protest  against 
her  neglect.  He  spoke  of  his  own  engagements 
without  reference  to  Sara  ;  he  said,  with  a  laugh 
of  affected  self-depreciation,  that  he  would  have 
been  glad  to  be  their  escort  to  a  sale  at 
Chrystie's,  but  that  it  would  be  detrimental  to 
Sara  to  be  seen  with  such  a  poor  fellow  as  he 
was  known  to  be.  In  a  score  of  ways  he  made 
the  indignant,  yet  affectionate  woman  feel  that 
the  love  of  Tasmer  could  not  be  transported  to 
London.  And  yet  she  told  herself  that  he 
might  be  trying  to  deceive  Lad}-  Moidart;  for 
she  could  not  misunderstand  that  sudden  leap 
ing  up  of  feeling  into  his  face,  that  reluctant 
separation  of  their  hands,  that  indefinable  some- 


The  Minister's  Interference.        189 

thing,  impalpable    as   the  atmosphere,  and  yet 
beyond  all  reasoning  away. 

In  reality,  Lenox  did  love  her  as  much  as  it 
was  possible  for  him  to  love.  But  he  was  a  man 
who,  without  being  vulgarly  fond  of  money, 
knew  well  the  value  of  money.  He  was  aware 
that  Sara's  fortune  was  as  yet  a  mere  trifle.  Sir 
Rolfe,  if  he  lived  and  carried  out  his  clearance 
policy,  might  become  a  rich  man  and  leave  his 
daughter  a  handsome  income,  but — and  there 
was  so  much  hung  upon  that  "  but."  He  could 
not  afford  to  marry  her  for  some  years,  unless 
he  preferred  marriage  and  Continental  econo 
mies  to  a  bachelor  life  of  English  comforts  and 
English  society.  There  were  hours  in  which 
his  decision  on  this  matter  wavered  very  much. 
Sara  was  such  a  pearl  among  women.  Her  beauty 
entranced  him,  and  he  knew  all  the  piety  and 
amiability  of  her  nature.  She  was  not  brilliant 
or  clever,  but  he  did  not  like  brilliant,  clever 
women,  and  Sara  Torquil  was  precisely  his  ideal 
wife,  if  she  had  only  been  as  rich  as  she  was 


i go          The  Ministers  Interference, 

beautiful  and  good.  So  he  suffered  in  his  way, 
also ;  not  as  much  as  Sara,  for  he  was  not 
capable  of  much  mental  suffering,  but  quite 
enough  to  make  him  feel  at  times  as  if  he 
would  run  all  risks  of  future  discomfort  rather 
than  give  her  up  to  any  other  pretender  to  her 
favor. 

It  was  singular  that  Mr.  Maclane,  the  only 
real  rival  he  had,  never  gave  him  a  moment's 
uneasiness.  He  saw  that  he  was  often  at  Lady 
Moidart's,  and  frequently  driving  with  Sara ; 
but  he  supposed  it  was  only  the  friendship  of  an 
elderly  man  for  a  lovely  woman  who  had  been 
his  hostess  and  companion  during  a  few  pleasant 
weeks.  Maclane  was  far  too  prudent  a  lover  to 
make  his  attentions  obtrusive  even  in  Sara's 
eyes.  She  only  knew  that  he  divined,  as  if  by 
instinct,  when  he  could  give  her  pleasure  or  do 
her  service,  and  also  when  it  was  the  precise 
moment  to  relieve  her  of  his  presence.  Insen 
sibly  she  grew  to  rely  upon  a  love  which  never 
under  any  circumstances  failed  her  ;  which  never 


The  Ministers  Interference.         191 

demanded  anything  from  her ;  which  was  never 
absent  when  desired,  and  never  present  when 
unwelcome  or  mat-apropos.  Long  before  winter 
was  over  it  had  come  to  be  a  question  in  her 
mind  between  the  two  men.  Lenox  gave  her  so 
many  anxious  hours,  so  many  self-humiliations, 
so  much  of  that  hope  deferred  that  makes  the 
heart  sick.  Maclane  never  suffered  himself  to 
be  associated  in  her  mind  with  anything  unhappy 
or  unwelcome. 

So,  beneath  the  outside  triumph,  beneath  the 
songs  and  the  smiles  and  the  beautiful  apparel, 
and  the  atmosphere  of  luxury  and  pleasure, 
there  was  this  constant  under-current  of  the 
future  ;  ana  Sara  knew  very  well,  that,  after  all, 
it  was  the  real  tide  in  her  affairs,  and  that  it  was 
bearing  her  on  to  her  life's  destiny.  At  first  she 
tried  to  understand  and  control  it,  but  she  soon 
discovered  that  its  forces  and  tides  were  far 
beyond  her  knowledge  or  even  her  imagination. 

"  We  are  all  the  creatures  of  circumstances,  " 
Lady  Moidart  was  fond  of  asserting.  "  If  you 


192          The  Minister  s  Interference. 

could  write  a  letter  to  them,  Sara,  what  truth 
there  would  be  in  signing  yourself — '  Your 
humble  and  obedient  servant.'  As  for  making 
circumstances,  as  Napoleon  advised,  I  consider 
it  sinful  folly.  Drift  with  the  tide  of  events, 
Sara,  and  you  are  as  likely  to  get  into  harbor  as 
it  you  tied  yourself  to  the  wheel  of  your  own 
foresight  or  wisdom." 

Sara  was  too  diffident  and  too  personally  reti 
cent  to  dispute  this  position ;  but  the  placid 
smile  which  Lady  Moidart  took  for  her  assent 
was,  in  reality,  the  result  of  that  sweet  and  sua- 
den  inward  reliance  which  the  habit  of  piety 
grants.  Her  soul  passed  with  a  thought  the 
drifting  and  the  turmoil  of  chance  and  circum 
stance.  However  hidden  the  tide  ot  her  life,  the 
pilot  of  the  Galilean  lake  knew  all  its  shoals  and 
currents.  However  perplexing  the  events  with 
which  she  had  to  deal,  she  could  go  to  Mary. 
Mother  of  Mercy,  comforter  of  all  anxious  and 
sorrowful  women. 

After,  then,  some  weeks  of  feverish  hopes  and 


The  Ministers  Interference.         193 

uncertainties,  she  decided  to  let  herself  be 
guided  by  circumstances,  which  she  committed 
afresh  every  day  to  the  direction  of  her  guardian 
angel.  Some  of  these  circumstances  were, 
indeed,  afar  off  and  beyond  her  control.  What 
could  she  say  or  do  to  prevent  the  many-sided 
tragedy  preparing  within  the  walls  of  Tasmer? 
She  had  understood  it  but  very  little  when  she 
was  there ;  the  wrong,  the  misery  likely  to  flow 
from  it,  she  had  no  conception  of.  Lord  Lenox 
spoke  of  the  clearances  on  his  own  estate  as 
improvements.  The  people  of  Torquil  never 
concerned  her  in  the  same  way  as  they  inter 
ested  Donald.  They  were  not  likely  to  be  her 
tenants ;  she  had  not  the  personal  knowledge  of 
them  which  he  had.  Her  mind  had  been  fully 
occupied  with  the  prospects  of  her  visit  to 
London  and  her  hopes  respecting  Lord  Lenox. 
The  subject  of  the  Highland  clearances,  though 
she  heard  gentlemen  discussing  it,  interested  her 
in  about  the  same  manner  as  the  bills  before 
Parliament  or  the  prospects  of  the  wheat  crop. 


194          The  Minister's  Interference. 

Yet,  little  as  she  thought  of  the  subject,  it 
was  the  current  setting  toward  her  destiny. 
She  was  watching  other  currents,  hoping  from 
others,  fearing  from  others.  She  never  thought 
of  this  one.  It  was  out  of  her  sight,  almost  out 
of  her  hearing ;  it  was  beyond  the  horizon  of 
her  usual  life.  Neither  did  Maclane  think  it 
worth  taking  into  his  consideration.  It  was  the 
one  thing  touching  Sara's  life  which  he  ignored. 
Yet,  it  was  the  current,  the  fortunate  tide  of  his 
love. 

For  there  had  been  a  whisper  among  the  hills 
of  Tasmer — a  soughful  and  sorrowful  whisper 
of  coming  evil,  some  weeks  before  that  night  on 
which  Father  Matthew  Contach  made  his  urgent 
appeal  for  the  homes  of  the  peasants.  After  it, 
the  whisper  soon  became  a  great  cry  of  grief 
and  indignation.  The  advice  which  is  not  taken 
irritates ;  and  Sir  Rolfe,  after  he  had  shaken  off 
the  personal  influence  of  the  priest,  resented  his 
interference.  He  denied  to  his  own  heart  the 
claim  of  the  people  to  any  share  in  the  Torquil 


The  Ministers  Interference.         195 

lands.  If  King  George  and  the  advancing  spirit 
of  the  age  had  broken  up  the  clan  system,  it  was 
not  his  fault.  He  was  compelled  to  suffer  a 
certain  loss  of  power  and  dignity.  The  people 
lost  certain  privileges.  He  was  about  to  make 
the  best  of  what  was  left  to  him.  They  must  do 
the  same.  If  they  were  men,  they  would  be 
glad  to  do  it.  Even  parents  came  to  a  time 
when  they  expected  their  sons  to  seek  a  career 
for  themselves.  The  tie  between  himself  and 
the  clan  was  worn  away  to  a  mere  sentiment ;  it 
was  an  imposition  on  their  part  to  plead  it.  The 
word  imposition  always  roused  him.  As  soon  as 
this  idea  came  into  his  mind,  he  passionately 
assured  himself  that  he  would  never  submit 
to  it. 

The  first  result  of  this  decision  was  a  decided 
estrangement  between  the  Torquil  and  his  son. 
He  saw  that  he  could  expect  no  effective  assist 
ance  from  Donald  ;  and  his  first  movement  was 
to  send  for  his  factor. 

"  Mr.   Frazer,"   he    said   "  you    will    procure 


196          The  Minister's  Interference. 

summonses  of  removal  and  serve  them  upon  the 
tenants  of  Easter-Torquil." 

Fra2er  was  ready  to  obey  such  a  mandate. 
He  considered  it  a  sacred  duty  to  the  estate,  and 
spoke  so  seriously  on  its  undoubted  good  results, 
that  Sir  Rolfe  experienced,  after  the  consulta 
tion,  a  very  unusual  content. 

To  Donald,  he  did  not  again  offer  his  con 
fidence  ;  he  put  the  young  man  quite  outside  his 
favor  and  society.  They  met  only  at  the  dinner 
hour,  and  Donald  thought  his  father  contrived 
to  make  it  the  most  uncomfortable  hour  in  the 
day.  Very  naturally,  during  these  bitter  weeks, 
Donald's  thoughts  turned  continually  to  Roberta 
Balfour;  but  as  the  winter  went  on,  the  inter 
views  of  the  lovers  became  constantly  more  and 
more  uncertain;  still,  when  it  was  possible  to 
take  the  boat  along  that  dangerous  coast,  he 
followed  out  the  plan  devised  by  Angus  Mac 
kenzie. 

But  such  meetings  were  exceedingly  rare ;  so 
rare  that  even  Mr.  Balfour,  whose  suspicions 


The  Minister  s  Interference.         197 

were  constantly  on  the  alert,  never  surmised 
them.  They  were  not  entirely  happy  meetings. 
Roberta  had  too  honest  a  nature  to  feel  satisfied 
with  any  clandestine  pleasure.  She  was  humil 
iated  in  her  own  sight  every  time  they 
occurred ;  but  when  Donald  had  risked  his  life 
to  see  her  she  could  not  resist  his  entreaties. 
For  her  own  gratification  she  would  not  have 
transgressed  her  father's  will ;  for  Donald's 
comfort  she  ventured  to  meet  even  her  own 
heart's  reproaches. 

One  day  Donald  arrived  at  Rosa  Macken 
zie's  about  noon,  and  Rosa  immediately  went 
to  the  manse  with  a  few  fresh  eggs  for  the 
minister.  There  was  not  a  word  said  to 
Roberta,  but  Roberta  understood  without  a 
word  that  Donald  was  waiting  to  see  her.  She 
was  reading  aloud  to  her  father,  and  when  Rosa 
was  gone  the  book  was  resumed.  Perhaps 
there  was  something  in  the  tone  of  her  voice,  in 
the  forced  calm  of  her  manner,  or  in  her  flush 
ing  and  paling  face  which  roused  Mr.  Balfour's 


198          The  Ministers  Interference. 

wonder.  He  watched  her  as  she  read,  with 
keen  intentness.  He  was  scarcely  aware  of  a 
word  in  the  argument  Roberta  was  reading. 
Something  seemed  to  have  suddenly  opened  his 
eyes.  When  Roberta  glanced  toward  the  few 
cottages  on  the  seashore,  he  saw  in  that  glance 
matter  for  fears  and  doubts  that  troubled  him 
greatly.  After  dinner  was  over,  he  said  : 

"  You  need  not  read  to  me  this  afternooon, 
Roberta.  You  do  not  look  as  well  as  visual. 
Are  you  sick  ?  Or  nervous  ?  Perhaps  a  walk 
in  the  fresh  air  will  do  you  good." 

He  did  not  wait  for  her  reply.  He  was  a  man 
with  a  tender  and  scrupulous  conscience,  and  he 
would  not  tempt  his  child  to  lie  to  him.  He 
only  wanted  her  to  feel,  if  she  were  deceiving 
him,  that  her  efforts  had  not  been  entirely  suc 
cessful.  He  suspected  that  Rosa  Mackenzie 
had  brought  her  a  letter.  He  could  not  tell 
how  or  why  the  suspicion  had  come  to  him. 
Certainly  he  had  neither  seen  nor  heard  any 
thing  to  warrant  it — yet  there  it  .vas.  Up  and 


The  Minister's  Interference.         199 


down  his  own  room  he  walked.  He  was  watch 
ing  his  child,  but  he  would  not  consciously 
admit  the  fact  to  himself.  Still,  when  he  per 
ceived  that  she  had  dressed  in  haste  and  was 
going  toward  Rosa  Mackenzie's  cottage,  his 
heart  burned  with  foreboding  anger. 

For  some  minutes  he  stood  considering  the 
circumstance.  Should  he  seek  confirmation  of 
his  wrong  ?  Or  should  he  be  content  to  enjoy 
such  hours  of  hope  and  faith  in  his  child  as  his 
doubts  permitted  him  ?  Was  not  this  a  case 
where  ignorance  would  be  better  than  knowl 
edge  ?  He  speedily  denied  the  supposition — 
vehemently  denied  it.  No,  no  ;  it  was  better  to 
have  the  whole  truth.  If  in  pursuit  of  it  he  did 
Roberta  wrong,  then  he  would  acknowledge  the 
wrong  and  trust  her  forever  afterward.  If 
Roberta  were  really  deceiving  him,  the  sooner 
she  was  reminded  of  her  sin  and  made  aware  of 
its  uselessness,  the  better  it  would  be.  He  deter 
mined,  in  the  latter  case,  to  do  his  duty  as  kindly 
as  possible. 


2<x>          The  Minister  s  Interference. 

"  I  will  remember  my  youth,"  he  whispered. 
"  I  will  not  be  hard  with  her ;  for  the  young 
man  is  her  first  lover,  and  he  is,  also,  a  very 
pleasant  young  man.  Oh,  if  he  had  only  been 
free  and  frank  with  me  !  I  could  have  loved  him 
well ;  yes,  I  could  have  loved  him,  though  he  is 
of  an  ill  family  and  a  blind  faith." 

It  was  with  such  tolerant  thoughts  he  fol 
lowed  Roberta.  If  the  lovers  had  been  watch 
ing  they  could  have  seen  him  coming.  But 
they  sat  together  on  the  hearth,  with  their 
backs  to  the  small  window,  far  too  deeply 
absorbed  in  their  own  sorrowful  love  to  remem 
ber  such  a  possibility.  Rosa  Mackenzie  was 
kneading  oat-cakes  at  the  table.  It  was  her 
kindly  part  to  be  absorbed  in  her  occupation  ; 
and  so,  when  the  minister  opened  the  door,  alt 
alike  were  astonished  and  dismayed.  Donald  and 
Roberta  stood  up  hand  in  hand.  They  did  not 
utter  a  word,  but  looked  straight  at  him  with  sen 
sitive  faces  and  shining  eyes.  Rosa  Mackenzie 
rubbed  the  meal  off  her  hands,  and  as  she  pushed 


The  Minister's  Interference.        201 

forward  a  small  stool,  muttered  apologies  in 
mixed  Gaelic  and  English. 

Balfour  did  not  notice  her  at  all.  He  touched 
his  daughter,  and  said,  sternly: 

"  Roberta,  go  home !  This  is  a  tryst  I  will 
keep  for  you.  Go  home  at  once !" 

"  You  are  going  to  be  angry  with  Donald, 
father — going  to  say  unkind  things  to  him.  1 
will  stay  with  him,  for  I  am  as  much  in  the 
wrong  as  he  is." 

"  I  tell  you,  go  home,  Roberta.  Do  not  dis 
obey  me." 

"  Father,  I  am  to  be  Donald's  wife.  I  must 
stand  by  Donald  if  you  are  angry  with  him." 

"  Mr.  Balfour,  forgive  me.  I  would  not  have 
begged  Roberta  to  see  me  here  if  you  would 
have  allowed  me  to  see  her  in  her  own  home,  in 
your  presence.  Upon  my  honor,  sir — " 

"  Your  honor,  sir !  It  is  not  worth  the  breath 
with  which  you  assert  it.  As  one  man  writes  to 
another  man,  1  wrote  to  you.  I  showed  you 
that  a  marriage  between  yourself  and  Miss  Bal- 


2O2          The  Minister  s  Interference. 

tour  was  impossible  on  every  hand.  I  asked  of 
your  honor  so  much  pity  for  my  girl  as  would 
permit  her  to  pass  through  the  suffering  you 
have  brought  upon  her  without  false  hopes  and 
without  sympathy,  which  could  only  bring  more 
suffering.  For  your  own  selfish  pleasure  you 
come  here  to  encourage  her  wretchedness,  her 
futile  longings  for  you,  her  ill-starred  affection. 
There  is  not  on  the  earth  a  more  distinctly  sel 
fish  creature  than  a  young  man  who  fancies  him 
self  in  love." 

"Sir—" 

"  1  know  what  I  am  saying.  For  your  own 
personal  pleasure,  you  induce  Roberta  to  break 
God's  commands,  to  forfeit  her  own  self-respect, 
to  stain  the  stainless  purity  of  her  girlhood. 
You  trouble  all  her  hours.  You  have  given  her 
sorrow  and  restlessness  for  the  joy  and  freedom 
of  her  old  content  and  the  glad  companionship 
of  nature.  She  was  happy  ;  you  have  made  her 
miserable.  I,  too — what  have  I  ever  done  to 


The  Minister  s  Interference.         203 

you  but  good  ?  And  how  have  you  repaid 
me?" 

"  Fate  has  been  very  cruel  to  me." 

"  Fate  !  Fate  !  What  nonsense  you  are  talk 
ing  !  You  have  been  cruel  to  yourself ;  cruel  to 
Roberta ;  cruel  to  me.  If,  as  you  assert,  you 
loved  Roberta  the  moment  you  saw  her,  then 
the  first  night  you  slept  under  my  root  you 
deceived  me  ;  the  first  time  you  broke  bread  at 
my  table  you  were  a  traitor.  Quite  well  you 
understood  that  there  could  be  no  question  of  a 
marriage  between  a  Calvinist  and  a  Romanist ; 
between  a  nobleman's  son  and  heir  and  the 
daughter  of  a  poor  Free-Kirk  minister." 

"Oh,  sir!  love  hopes  for  impossibilities! 
Love  has  reasons  that  reason  cannot  understand. 
If  you  have  ever  loved — surely  you  have 
loved?" 

"  Sir,  my  love  is  a  sacred  thing.  It  is  not  for 
discussion.  Don't  imagine  yourself  to  be  the 
only  man  who  has  felt  the  sublime  frenzy. 
Only,  if  you  had  been  a  man,  you  would  have 


2O4          The  Minister  s  Interference. 

borne  the  disappointment  alone.  You  would 
have  thought  of  your  father  and  of  Roberta's 
father.  You  would  have  shielded  from  useless 
longings  the  girl  you  profess  to  love.  You 
would  have  respected  the  spirit  and  integrity 
ot  your  faith,  and  never  asked  yourself — -no, 
not  once — if  it  were  possible  to  marry  a  wife 
not  ot  it.  For  you  would  have  regarded  the 
misery  of  a  home  in  which  there  would  be 
two  altars  and  a  divided  worship — perhaps 
even  a  divided  household.  That  very  first 
night  you  would  have  worshiped  with  me  as 
Naaman  bowed  himself  in  the  house  of 
Rimmon,  under  a  protest,  and  I  should  have 
respected  you  tor  it.  I  vow  to  you,  had  you 
done  this  I  should  have  honored  you ;  1  should 
have  felt  a  sincere  sympathy  in  your  suffering, 
and  all  your  life  long  1  would  have  been  your 
friend.1' 

"  I  have  made  a  mistake,  sir.  1  thought  of 
none  of  these  things.  I  thought  only  of 
Roberta.  Pardon  me,  I  beg  you." 


The  Minister's  Interference.        205 

"  If  I  could  forgive  this  selfish  thoughtless 
ness,  this  reckless  putting  of  natural  craving 
before  conscience  and  ordinary  consideration  of 
consequences,  how  can  I  forgive  a  man  who 
lures  my  child  from  truth,  from  her  home  and 
her  duty,  and  teaches  her  to  deceive  her  con 
science  and  her  father?" 

"  It  is  my  fault !  It  is  my  fault,  father !  I 
love  Donald.  If  it  be  a  sin  to  love  him  I  am 
not  sorry  for  the  sin.  I  cannot  give  up  Donald  , 
I  would  rather  die  than  give  him  up  !" 

"  Dare  not  to  say  such  wicked  words, 
Roberta.  Do  you  think  the  Almighty  opens 
the  gates  of  death  for  the  puling  of  a  love 
sick  girl?"  Then,  addressing  Donald,  he 
asked  :  "  What  says  Sir  Rolfe  Torquil  on  this 
matter  ?" 

"  I  have  not  yet  named  it  to  him.  He  is  much 
occupied  with  important  changes." 

"Oh!  You^  have  not  named  it!  Your 
behavior  to  your  father  is  as  bad  as  it  is  to  me, 


206          The  Minister's  Interference. 

sir.  Come,  Roberta,  it  is  time  we  were  going. 
Bid  Mr.  Torquil  farewell." 

There  were  no  tears  in  her  eyes  when  she  put 
her  hand  in  Donald's  hand.  But  the  bitterest 
tears  are  shed  inwardly.  All  her  fine  color  had 
fled  ;  she  was  as  pale  as  ivory. 

"You  will  not  forget  me,  Roberta?" 

"  As  long  as  I  live  I  will  be  faithful  to  you, 
Donald." 

So  she  went  from  him,  and  for  some  minutes 
he  remained  motionless  and  speechless.  He 
lelt  as  if  the  tide  of  life  was  ebbing  away  from 
his  heart  •  he  thought  he  would  die  of  grief ;  he 
wished  to  die.  Oh,  where  is  the  heart  that  does 
not  hope  to  break  under  its  first  great  sorrow  ! 


CHAPTER    XI. 

THE     CLEARANCE. 

The  summons  for  the  clearing  of  Easter-Tor- 
quil  had  been  served  early  in  March.  The 
cottages  were  to  be  vacated  at  Whitsuntide,  and 
the  time  was  at  hand.  Sir  Rolfe  had  expected 
some  resistance,  for  he  was  well  aware  that 
Macdonald  and  other  Highland  chiefs  had  only 
dispossessed  their  tenants  by  invoking  the  aid  of 
the  law,  or  the  sword.  But  Macdonald's  sept 
were  Calvinists  of  the  straitest  kind;  men  who 
had  been  protesting  from  the  days  of  Knox  to 
the  days  of  Chalmers.  Resistance  to  any 
encroachment  on  what  they  considered  their 
rights,  or  their  opinions,  was  a  familiar  attitude 
to  them.  The  Torquils  and  Mackenzies  were 
equally  familiar  with  the  idea  of  loyalty  and 


208  The  Clearance. 

obedience  to  their  church,  and  to  all  constituted 
authorities.  No  people  on  earth  had  the  law- 
abiding  spirit  more  strong  than  the  Catholic 
clans  of  Scotland  ;  and  though  the  finest 
soldiers  that  ever  drew  sword,  they  were  incapa 
ble  of  defending  themselves,  except  in  an  open 
and  recognized  fight.  From  behind  a  hedge 
they  would  not  have  fired  a  shot,  even  at  the 
devil. 

At  the  first  mention  of  a  clearance,  they  felt 
that  their  only  hope  lay  in  an  appeal  to  the  kind 
ness  of  Sir  Rolfe  Torquil ;  and  if  that  appeal 
tailed,  their  homes  must  inevitably  be  desolated. 
Yet  the  clan  tie  was  so  strong  and  living  in  their 
own  hearts,  they  could  not  imagine  it  less  potent 
in  the  heart  of  the  Torquil.  The  old  men  and 
women,  especially,  were  certain  that  when  the 
evil  hour  came,  they  would  be  permitted  to  end 
tneir  days  in  their  little  cottages.  If  the  young 
men  and  women  and  the  growing  children  were 
removed,  death  would  very  quickly  dispossess 
the  few  aged  tenants,  and  every  year  would  see 


The  Clearance.  209 

the  land  clearing  itself  ot  its  human  encum 
brances. 

Even  Father  Contach  inclined  to  this  opinion ; 
though  after  every  useless  intercession  he  advised 
the  people  to  expect  no  favor  and  make  their 
preparations  with  all  the  speed  possible.  Some 
of  them  had  friends  in  the  Lewes;  others  in 
the  Skye  ;  a  few  had  sons  or  daughters,  .uncles 
or  cousins  in  North  Carolina,  where  many  of  the 
Mackenzies  fled  after  the  bloody  settlement  of 
Culloden.  Letters  asking  help  had  been  sent  to 
these  various  sources,  and  Father  Matthew  had 
also  solicited  assistance  from  richer  congregations 
in  various  localities.  He  desired  to  keep  the 
unhappy  people  together,  and  he  thought  it  pos 
sible  to  collect  money  sufficient  to  send  the  little 
colony  as  one  family  to  their  kindred  in  America. 

But  letters  asking  assistance  are  not  usually 
answered  promptly,  and  Whitsuntide  arrived 
and  found  the  doomed  exiles  without  anj  defi 
nite  plans  or  any  certain  means.  There  seemed 
nothing  to  be  done  except  to  urge  upon  Sir 


2io  The  Clearance. 

Rolfe  a  stay  of  proceedings  until  arrangements 
could  be  completed  for  the  people's  future.  But 
Father  Matthew  had  a  strong  repugnance  to 
approach  him  again  upon  the  subject.  Such 
interviews  had  become  more  and  more  strained 
and  painful,  and  he  had  found  that  every  appeal 
to  Sir  Rolfe's  justice  or  kindness  had  only  inten 
sified  his  sense  of  irritation  and  made  him  more 
determined  to  carry  out  his  own  plans  without 
let  or  hindrance. 

He  took  precisely  this  tone  when  the  father 
made  his  final  appeal. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  refuse  you,  personally,  any 
favor,  Father  Contach,  but  I  cannot  permit  my 
business  to  wait  longer  upon  people  notoriously 
inclined  to  procrastinate,  and  to  rely  upon  any 
one  but  themselves.  I  have  laid  out  a  certain 
life-work.  I  am  not  a  young  man.  I  cannot 
wait  upon  probabilities  resting  upon  some  Tor- 
quil  or  Mackenzie  in  Lewes  or  America.  It  is 
unjust  to  ask  me." 

"But  the  aged?" 


The    Clearance,  2 1 1 

"  Age  has  nothing  to  do  with  a  principle.  If 
I  favor  the  aged,  why  not  the  little  children  ? 
Hector  Torquil  is  the  oldest  man  in  the  clachan. 
Suppose  I  allow  him  and  his  wife  Sheila  to 
remain.  I  know  that  they  will  be  continually 
mourning  for  their  children  and  grandchildren 
and  great-grandchildren.  I  shall  never  hear  the 
last  of  their  loneliness  and  helplessness.  Such 
half-measures  are  cruel  all  around.  Do  you  sup 
pose  I  derive  any  pleasure  from  sending  these 
people  away  ?  I  assure  you  it  is  a  great  trouble, 
and  has  been,  as  you  are  aware,  something  also 
of  a  loss  ;  for  I  put  into  your  hands  fifty  pounds 
for  their  assistance,  a  sum  of  ready  money  I  can 
not  very  easily  spare.  The  good  of  the  estate 
requires  that  they  should  be  cleared  out  root 
and  branch  ;  and  when  a  trouble  requires  the 
knife  of  the  surgeon,  the  doctor  has  no  charm 
for  it,  Father.  I  will  have  no  half-measures  in 
this  matter." 

So  the  flitting  was  a  determined  thing,  and  a 
few  of  the  younger   people  understood  it  to  be 


212  The    Clearance. 

so;  and  without  indulging  any  further  hope,  they 
departed  as  quickly  and  quietly  as  possible.  But 
when  Whitmonday  came  there  were  still  over  a 
hundred  souls  in  Easter-Torquil  who  knew  not 
where  to  lay  their  heads.  Fortunately,  it  was  a 
glorious  spring  day,  the  corries,  hazy  with  blue 
bells,  the  green,  green  straths,  white  with  dais 
ies  ;  the  wind  fresh,  but  not  cold  ;  the  sky  blue, 
the  air  full  of  exhilarating  sunshine.  Never  had 
the  little  clachan  looked  so  fair,  so  peaceful,  so 
happy.  But,  oh  !  What  anxiety  and  fears  and 
sad  regrets  were  at  every  hearth. 

About  ten  o'clock  the  factor  and  a  body  of 
men  arrived.  Immediately  they  began  to  raze 
the  empty  cottages.  For  a  short  time  the 
people  looked  on  in  bewildered  grief,  but  very 
soon  affairs  were  made  terribly  clear  to  them. 
There  was  not  a  shadow  of  favor  to  be  shown  to 
any ;  even  Ann  Ross,  an  aged,  bed-ridden 
woman,  was  to  be  removed  to  a  family  in  the 
village  of  Torquil,  who  had  agreed  to  care  for 
her  at  Sir  Rolfe's  charge.  The  helpless  old 


The   Clearance.  2 1 3 

crone  filled  the  air  with  her  cries  as  the  men 
lifted  her  on  to  a  litter  and  carried  her  down  the 
mountains.  It  was  the  beginning  of  a  scene  of 
indescribable  hubbub  and  suffering. 

The  men  were  mostly  sullen  and  silent  as  they 
moved  out  of  their  homes  their  household  furni 
ture  ;  but  the  women  wailed,  as  if  each  separate 
woman  were  at  the  funeral  of  her  first-born  ;  and 
the  children,  at  first  full  of  wonder,  grew  cold 
and  hungry  as  the  day  wore  on,  and  added  their 
cries  to  the  general  confusion.  In  the  meantime 
the  factor  and  his  men  went  busily  on  destroy 
ing  the  clachan ;  as  quickly  as  a  cottage  was 
cleared  it  was  taken  possession  of ;  and  soon 
after  three  o'clock  every  door  had  been  closed. 

It  was  then  growing  imperative  for  the  ejected 
crofters  to  seek  shelter  for  the  night.  Most  of 
them  had  relatives  or  friends  in  Torquil  vil 
lage  ;  and  so,  laden  with  their  most  necessary 
utensils  and  clothing,  and  carrying  their  young 
est  children,  they  went  together  down  the 
mountain.  They  had  to  pass  the  church,  and 


2 1 4  The    Clearance. 

with  one  impulse  they  gathered  around  the 
rectory  door.  Even  at  this  hour  they  could  not 
abandon  the  hope  that  the  good  father,  who  had 
always  before  been  sufficient  for  their  sorrow, 
would  still  be  able  to  help  them.  He  had  just 
returned  from  Balmacarra,  where  he  had  gone  to 
meet  the  mail,  trusting  that  it  might  bring  help. 

He  was  very  weary  and  hungry  ;  but  when  he 
saw  the  old  and  the  young  standing  around  his 
door,  uttering  no  complaint,  as  they  watched 
with  a  wistful,  sad  patience,  for  him,  his  heart 
burned  with  sorrow  and  with  righteous  anger. 
He  knew  not  what  to  do  for  them ;  but  in  this 
extremity  of  his  judgment,  he  passed  rapidly 
from  the  rectory  to  the  church,  and  prostrated 
himself  before  the  altar.  He  did  not  speak  to 
the  people,  but  they  saw  his  face,  and  they 
divined  for  what  purpose  he  had  gone  into  the 
immediate  presence  of  God,  and  they  waited 
with  a  touching  resignation  his  will  and  word. 

In  a  few  minutes,  they  saw  him  standing  in 
he  open  door  of  the  church,  his  face  bright 


The  Clearance.  215 

from  his  communion  with  Heaven,  his  hands  out 
stretched,  as  if  to  assure  them  of  his  blessing  and 
assistance.  They  under  stood  that  he  wished  to 
speak  to  them,  and  quietly  gathered  around  him. 
"  My  children,"  he  said,  "  the  day  of  trouble 
has  come  at  last,  but  do  not  fear.  God  takes 
particular  care  of  the  good,  and  those  whom  He 
loves  He  saves.  I  know,  and  I  am  sure  that 
this  trial  shall  in  the  end  be  for  your  welfare. 
A  little  while  you  must  wait  upon  God.  Well, 
then,  wait  here,  in  His  precincts,  in  the  shadow 
of  His  sanctuary.  Go  into  the  church-yard,  and 
erect  large  booths  there  for  your  shelter.  It  is 
God's  acre,  no  man  dare  molest  you.  Many 
old  masts  are  lying  around  ;  take  them  for  sup 
ports.  The  roofs  can  be  made  of  furze  and 
straw,  and  under  these  shelters  build  your  fires, 
and  spread  your  blankets  around  them.  Over 
the  graves  of  your  fathers  you  may  dwell  in 
safety ;  your  Mother  Church  will  hold  you  in 
her  arms;  and  I  at  the  altar  will  make  con 
tinual  intercession  for  you.  Here  you  must 


2i6  The  Clearance. 

remain  until  I  have  another  word  for  you.  Be 
patient,  it  will  certainly  come.  Keep  together, 
for  to  scatter  over  the  country  looking  for 
work  is  to  become  paupers.  You  must  suffer 
together,  and  together  you  will  be  helped." 

The  words  were  like  wine  to  the  dejected 
people,  and  they  flew  through  the  village  like  fire. 
The  fishers  left  their  nets,  the  young,  strong 
women  brought  straw  and  whatever  might  be 
useful,  every  lad  and  every  lass  that  could  lend 
a  helping  hand  worked  willingly  ;  and  against 
the  four  corners  of  the  church-yard  wall — which 
made  an  excellent  shelter  on  two  sides — they 
erected  four  large  booths.  Father  Matthew 
went  from  group  to  group  encouraging  and 
directing  the  workers.  He  sent  the  mothers  to 
the  rectory  to  cook  food,  he  folded  the  blankets 
about  the  weary  children.  All  night  long  the 
fires  burned  brightly,  and  the  work  went  bravely 
on,  and  when  the  sun  rose  again,  the  living  had 
found  homes  among  the  dwelling-places  of  the 
dead. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

SARA. 

*'  Let  still  the  woman  take 
An  elder  than  herself ;  so  wears  she  to  him, 
So  sways  she  level  in  her  husband's  heart." 

In  Tasmer  Castle  there  was  a  wretchedness 
which  no  one  spoke  of,  but  which  every  one  was 
sensitive  to.  Donald  was  kept  fully  aware  of 
«very  movement  by  Fergus,  but  no  one  could 
have  felt  more  completely  helpless  to  avert  or 
even  mitigate  misfortune,  than  he  did.  To 
express  sympathy  with  the  people  was  to  con 
demn  his  father ;  he  had  nothing  else  to  offer. 
His  own  position  was  both  humiliating  and 
unhappy.  After  the  winter  weather  set  in,  he 
could  see  little  of  Roberta;  his  boat  was  no 
longer  a  refuge  in  times  of  trouble  ;  he  was  not 


2 i 8  Sara. 

a  sportsman,  and  when  he  went  to  the  hills,  and 
came  home  every  day  with  an  empty  bag,  he 
laid  himself  open  to  his  father's  sarcasms,  and 
the  disapproval  and  astonishment  of  the  whole 
household. 

More  than  once  he  had  asked  for  his  com- 
mission.  It  would  at  least  give  him  an 
independent  living  and  enable  him  to  offer  a 
home  to  Roberta  if  she  would  accept  it.  At  any 
rate,  it  would  make  marriage  a  possibility.  But 
Sir  Rolfe  heard  these  requests  with  an  indig 
nation  that  seemed  unreasonable. 

"Your  work  is  here,  sir,"  he  answered,  "  if  you 
would  do  it.  You  ought  to  be  glad  to  assist  me 
in  quadrupling  the  value  of  an  estate  which  is  to 
be  your  own.  It  is  a  far  greater  work  than 
idling  in  some  foreign  station,  or  dangling  after 
women  in  home  barracks.  Military  life  is  not 
what  it  was  in  my  day.  Then,  a  man  saw 
service." 

"  I  should  like  to  try  it,  father.     I  am  of  no  use 


Sara.  219 

at  home  ;  I  am  in  the  way.  I  am  tired  of  doing 
nothing." 

"  Who  told  you  that  you  were  in  the  way?  If 
you  are  no  use,  it  is  your  own  fault.  I  cannot 
afford  to  place  you  in  the  army  until  Sara  is 
married.  However,  that  event  is  likely  to  occur 
very  soon.  You  will  get  your  troop  in  a  very 
few  months,  I  suppose." 

Perhaps  in  his  heart  Donald  was  not  very 
sorry  of  the  delay.  Spring  was  at  hand,  summer 
before  him,  and  during  the  months  when  it  was 
possible  to  see  Roberta,  he  did  not  feel  much 
regret  at  being  detained  in  her  neighborhood  by 
anything  having  the  semblance  of  duty. 

This  conversation  occurred  a  few  days  before 
the  clearance.  It  is  useless  to  speak  of  the 
shame  and  indignation  he  personally  felt  in  the 
coming  tragedy,  and  at  his  own  total  inability 
to  oppose  or  prevent  it.  For  it  is  the  finest  and 
most  honorable  natures  that  are  the  easiest 
enslaved  by  some  domineering  will — that  are 
inapt  to  resist,  harrassed  by  scruples,  astonished 


22O  Sara. 

at  audacities  they  have  a  difficulty  in  compre 
hending.  Donald  would  have  cheerfully  given 
his  life  for  the  people,  and  he  could  not  lift  a 
finger  to  help  them. 

During  all  Whitsunday  he  walked  about  the 
castle,  restless,  miserable,  tormented  with  plans 
which  he  knew  at  once  were  hopeless  and 
impracticable.  And  all  day,  though  sunshine 
filled  the  rooms,  the  atmosphere  in  Tasmer  was 
singularly  sensitive.  Several  times  Donald  had 
the  impression  that  some  one  had  come  into  the 
room.  There  were  visitings,  answers,  he  knew 
not  what  intelligences,  about  him.  As  the  day 
darkened  the  feeling  deepened.  He  fell  into  a 
kind  of  visionary  state,  in  which  he  seemed  to 
lose  all  voluntary  mental  and  physical  power, 
and  to  be  the  passive  recipient  of  impressions 
made  by  spiritual  minds.  The  gloom  upon  his 
face  brightened  ;  a  peace  that  passeth  under- 
standing  filled  his  soul.  In  about  an  hour  he 
rose  up  with  a  long  sigh  and  went  instantly  to 
his  desk  and  began  to  write. 


Sara.  221 

Tt  was  a  letter  to  Sara,  telling  her  in  strong1, 
graphic  sentences  the  trouble  that  was  at  Easter- 
Torquil,  and  begging  her  to  hasten  home  and 
use  her  influence  with  her  father,  in  behalf  of  the 
homeless  peasants.  Then  he  went  to  Father 
Contach  with  the  letter,  for  he  knew  the  priest 
was  going  to  Balmacarra  in  the  morning,  and 
could  see  it  so  far  safely  on  its  journey,  for  a  sud 
den  anxiety  for  Sara's  interference  had  become 
the  prominent  idea  in  his  mind.  Father  Mat 
thew  noticed  this,  and  asked  why  he  had  not 
thought  of  this  influence  before. 

"  I  know  not,  Father.  I  supposed  from  Sara's 
letters  she  was  too  busily  employed  with  her 
own  affairs — too  happy  to  be  troubled." 

"  You  do  your  sister  an  injustice,  Donald.  I 
never  knew  Sara  Torquil  put  pleasure  before 
charity  or  duty.  Who  or  what  urged  you  to 
appeal  to  her  to-day  ?" 

Then  Donald  revealed  to  his  friend  something 
of  the  spiritual  experience  he  had  just  had — 
only  something  approximating  it — for  he  had  no 


222  Sara. 

words  to  explain  fully  a  condition  transcending 
words. 

"  But,  distinctly,  as  if  you  had  breathed  the 
message  in  my  ear,  some  one  said  to  me,  '  Write 
to  Sara  Torquil.'  And  I  awoke — if  I  were 
asleep — happy,  comforted,  assured  of  help.  Can 
you  understand  me,  Father?" 

"  Thank  God,  I  can  understand  you,  Donald  ! 
These  infusions  of  heavenly  light  and  comfort 
that  come,  we  know  not  how,  often  when  we  are 
not  looking  for  them,  are  blessed  proofs  of — 
what,  think  you  ?" 

"  I  know  not." 

"  That  we  are  united  to  other  minds. 
Thoughts  come  from  minds ;  they  do  not  move 
about  in  the  air.  Good  minds  are  joined  thus  to 
better  minds,  and  the  angels  of  God  ascend  and 
descend  for  our  help  and  counsel.  Remember 
what  I  tell  you  now,  Donald :  We  are  the  inhab 
itants  of  two  worlds.  We  have  senses  that  open 
to  all  the  beauties  and  sorrows  of  this  portion 
of  our  Father's  mansion,  and  we  have  spiritual 


Sara.  223 

senses  that  can  open  to  an  inner,  a  higher,  a 
holier  world.  Blessed  are  they  who  have  ears 
to  hear  and  eyes  to  see  things  which  are  often 
hidden  from  the  wise  and  recorded  to  the  pure 
in  heart." 

"  Then,  Father,  if  there  be  good  angels  ever 
ready  to  teach  and  help  the  good,  may  there  not 
be  bad  angels  ever  ready  to  lead  still  further 
astray  the  wicked?" 

"Alas,  my  son,  who  can  doubt  it?  'Whoso 
ever  committeth  sin,  is  the  servant  of  sin.'  To 
a  bad  man  there  is  constantly  a  series  oi  sug 
gestions  being  made,  leading  him  to  be  worse. 
He  never  shows  himself  as  bad  as  he  leels. 
Something  is  always  impelling  him  to  pro- 
founder  depths  of  sin  and  folly.  Something 
worse  than  himself  drags  him  lower  and  lower. 
If  good  angels  cannot  approach  you,  be  very 
sure  evil  ones  will.  Choose,  then,  in  whose 
company  and  under  whose  influence  you  will 
dwell." 

Then   Donald  perceived   by  the  father's  still 


2  24  Sara. 

face  that  he  had  finished  the  interview ;  and 
again  commending  Sara's  letter  to  his  care,  he 
went  back  to  Tasmer  with  far  nobler  thoughts 
than  he  had  left  it.  His  soul  expanded  to  its 
lofty  and  illimitable  relationships ;  he  remem 
bered  "  the  cloud  of  witnesses."  In  the  enthusi 
asm  of  his  contemplation,  he  lifted  up  his  face 
and  spread  out  his  hands  to  the  Unseen,  and 
again  under  the  solemn  sighing  branches  of  the 
firs,  realized  that  he  was  indeed  the  inhabitant 
of  two  worlds.  A  great  resignation  and  trust 
succeeded  to  the  angry  turmoil  of  passions 
which  had  made  him  wretched  for  so  many 
weeks.  He  could  not  understand  how  his  letter 
to  Sara  was  to  procure  help,  but  he  firmly 
believed  it  would  do  so,  and  was  sure,  also,  that 
he  had  inspired  Father  Matthew  with  the  same 
confidence.  . 

It  arrived  in  London  just  as  Sara  had  finished 
her  preparations  for  returning  home.  Her  visit 
had  been  prolonged  much  beyond  its  original 
intention,  Lady  Moidart  usually  spending  the 


Sara.  225 

Easter  holidays  on  her  own  estate.  There  was 
in  the  house  the  feeling  of  outworn  pleasure, 
and  the  anticipation  of  a  change.  Trunks 
encumbered  the  halls,  and  the  tables  were 
covered  with  packages,  the  last  spoils  of  the 
Regent  Street  shops.  Sara  looked  at  the  parcels 
in  her  own  room  with  a  sentiment  of  sadness 
and  regret.  It  is  only  the  very  young  and 
thoughtless  who  are  not  conscious  of  some  dis 
satisfaction  after  foolish  and  reckless  expendi 
ture.  Her  last  day's  shopping  had  been 
altogether  unnecessary.  When  Lady  Moidart 
had  urged  her  to  make  out  a  list  of  indispensable 
toilet  adjuncts  to  take  north  with  her,  she  had 
made  such  a  list,  and  felt  in  the  making  of  it  that 
every  item  might  be  wanted  at  Tasmer,  and 
could  not  be  procured  But  the  possession  of  so 
many  ribbons  and  gloves  and  scarfs  was  not  half 
so  satisfying  as  she  had  anticipated.  They 
looked  upon  the  whole  a  very  paltry  exchange 
for  thirty  sovereigns,  and  she  admitted  the  fact 
to  herself. 


226  Sara. 

"  I  ought  not  to  have  spent  the  money. 
Father  told  me  how  hard  it  was  to  spare  it,  and 
poor  Donald  would  have  thought  himself  rich 
with  thirty  sovereigns." 

She  looked  at  the  offending  parcels  with  an 
air  of  aversion  and  vexation,  and  at  that  moment 
she  received  Donald's  letter.  She  read  it 
slowly,  and  then  stood  up  to  read  it  again.  It 
was  as  if  she  had  not  been  sure  of  her  intelli 
gence  while  in  an  attitude  of  inattention  ;  as  if, 
in  the  act  of  standing  up,  she  gathered  her 
faculties  together.  Father  Matthew  had  under 
stood  her  well,  for,  as  she  slowly  but  fully  real 
ized  the  condition  of  affairs  Donald  had  painted 
in  such  vehement  words,  her  countenance 
changed,  she  let  her  hands  fall  down,  and  stood 
pale  and  motionless  for  some  minutes,  just 
where  the  sorrowful  news  had  found  her. 

She  was  not  a  woman  apt  to  act  upon  impulse. 
She  had  discovered,  when  very  young,  that 
impulse  is  a  bad  guide ;  and,  though  she  had 
never  heard  of  Euripides,  she  had  arrived  at  his 


Sara.  227 

conclusion  :  "  among  mortals  second  thoughts 
are  best."  So  she  took  no  particular  heed  of  the 
suggestion  following  immediately  upon  her  first 
sensations  of  shame,  anger  and  pity.  Until  her 
maid  came  to  dress  her  for  dinner,  she  thought  of 
the  situation.  Donald  had  not  asked  her  for  any 
help,  except  her  influence  with  Sir  Rolfe.  He 
had  expected  no  other  help  from  her  ;  but  there 
was  a  feeling  of  "  needs  do "  in  her  own  soul, 
and  she  knew  she  would  not  escape  from  its 
strait  until  she  had  made  an  effort — an  effort  she 
was  already  dimly  conscious  of,  and  which  she 
was  waiting  for  events  to  set  clearly  before  her. 

"  You  are  very  tired,  Sara,"  said  Lady 
Moidart.  "  After  the  dance,  the  sleep.  After 
London,  Tasmer.  I  think  you  are  ready  for  the 
change." 

"  I  am  very  unhappy,  aunt !"  Then  she 
opened  Donald's  letter  and  read  it  aloud.  The 
old  lady  showed  her  resentment  much  more 
vividly  than  Sara  had  done. 

"  It  is  an  unspeakable  outrage,"  she  said,  pas- 


228  Sara. 

sionately.  "  I  have  thought  ill  of  your  father  all 
his  days,  but  never  that  he  would  do  so  ill  a 
thing.  Has  the  man  lost  all  conscience,  all 
family  pride  and  honor?  He  does  not  know 
what  he  is  undertaking.  Only  certain  natures — 
born  money-grabbers — can  make  such  wholesale 
cruelty  pay  them.  Sir  Rolfe  is  a  soldier  with 
some  fine  instincts  left,  which  will  perpetually 
interfere — such  as  sacrificing  fifty  pounds.  Why 
should  he  give  any  of  the  price  of  these  poor 
souls  back?  If  he  is  going  to  take  service  with 
the  devil,  then,  in  common-sense,  let  him  keep 
all  the  devil's  wages.  He  must  have  a  poor 
conscience  if  he  can  bribe  it  for  fifty  pounds." 

'  Hush  !  dear  aunt !  Father  is  not  much  to 
blame;  he  is  completely  under  the  influence  of 
Simon  Lovat." 

"  That  is  no  excuse,  Sara.  He  need  not  be 
under  his  influence.  Lovat  is  not  a  malignant 
contagion  in  the  air  which  cannot  be  escaped  ; 
he  is  a  poison  which  men  deliberately  lift  and 
drink — yes,  and  hold  in  their  hands  and  hesitate 


Sara.  229 

and  think  over.  Lord  Lenox  is  another  exam 
ple  of  his  influence.  Before  he  inherited  the 
Lenox  lordship,  when  he  had  no  hope  of  inher 
iting  it,  when  he  was  only  a  captain  in  the 
Seaforth  Highlanders,  he  was  as  pleasant  and 
good-hearted  a  young  fellow  as  I  ever  knew. 
I  liked  him.  I  helped  him  many  a  time.  But 
how  he  has  changed  !  The  first  clearance  cost 
him  some  hours  of  indecision  and  regret ;  the 
second,  not  a  thought.  I  have  been  truly  told 
that  the  last  of  the  crofters  on  his  estate  were 
removed  under  circumstances  of  the  most 
unnecessary  cruelty.  I  used  to  think  him  affec 
tionate  and  honorable.  I  was  mistaken.  He  is 
nothing  at  all  now,  if  he  is  not  unscrupulous 
and  greedy  of  gold.  1  have  no  doubt  he  will 
succeed  in  his  plans.  He  will  have  no  misgiv 
ings  and  no  relentings.  In  a  few  years  his 
estate  will  be  highly  productive,  and  in  the 
meantime  he  will  marry  Maria  Crossley,  whose 
father  made  her  a  million  by  brewing  beer. 
But  Sir  Rolfe  is  too  old  to  so  completely 


230  Sara. 

change  his  nature.  There  will  be  a  few  old  mil 
itary  and  gentlemanly  scruples  he  cannot  con 
quer:  his  whole  policy  will  be  weakened  by 
them.  He  will  commit  small  business  indiscre 
tions  that  will  ruin  him." 

"  If  you  could  only  talk  to  him,  aunt !" 
"  I  !  child  ;  he  would  not  listen  to  me  if  I  told 
how  to  save  his  life.  And  if  you  are  dreaming 
of  influencing  him,  dismiss  all  such  false  hopes. 
If  Rolfe  Torquil  has  made  up  his  mind  to  carry 
out  the  clearance  policy  on  the  Tasmer  estate, 
an  angel  from  Heaven  could  not  reason  with 
him." 

"  My  father  is  truly  religious,  aunt." 
"  1  know  it.  There  is  a  puzzle,  a  contradic 
tion,  in  most  characters,  that  none  but  God 
Almighty  understands.  How  Sir  Rolfe  recon 
ciles  his  injustice  to  his  people  with  the  ten 
commandments  and  the  golden  rule  is  beyond 
my  comprehension  ;  but  I  have  not  the  slightest 
doubt  that  he  has  done  so." 

Nothing  more  was  said  upon  the  subject,  but 


Sara.  231 

Sara  had  plenty  of  matter  for  thought.  It  was 
the  first  time  Lady  Moidart  had  expressed  any 
opinion  about  Lord  Lenox.  Sara  had  under 
stood  from  him  that  the  friendship  between 
them  was  of  the  kindest  and  most  confidential 
character,  and  she  had  wondered  at  their  slight 
intercourse  and  interest  concerning  each  other. 
She  understood  the  change  now ;  she  under 
stood  Lady  Moidart's  fixed  politeness  and  appar 
ent  carelessness  as  to  his  future.  Much  that 
had  pained  and  perplexed  her  was  now  clear. 

She  never  doubted  a  word  her  aunt  had  said. 
Lady  Moidart  had  faults,  but  she  did  not  lie. 
She  was  honorable  even  to  an  enemy.  All  she 
had  said  of  Lenox  might  be  taken  without  excep 
tions.  No  woman  likes  to  be  disenchanted.  Even 
when  the  process  goes  on  witn  intermissions  of 
hope,  it  is  a  painful  process,  but  Sara  had  come 
to  the  last  hour  of  her  illusion.  She  had  often 
wavered  in  her  opinion,  she  had  suffered  and  for 
given,  she  had  been  as  blind  as  those  who  will 
not  see,  she  had  gone  through  all  the  hopes  and 


232  Sara. 

despairs  and  self-humiliations  of  love's  fitful 
fever.  At  that  hour  she  felt  no  pity  for  herself 
and  no  love  for  Lenox ;  she  was  only  sorry  for 
the  hours  and  the  emotions  wasted  upon  so 
unworthy  an  object.  "  Something  in  my  own 
nature  must  be  akin  to  him,  or  I  should  not  have 
loved  him,"  she  thought,  and  she  was  ashamed 
under \he  self-condemnation.  Still  the  renuncia 
tion  was  not  completed  without  suffering.  A 
first  love,  however  unworthy,  strikes  its  roots 
deep  into  the  affections.  Sara  had  a  bad  night, 
and  in  the  morning,  while  the  house  was  all  in 
confusion  with  the  packing,  she  put  on  her  cloak 
and  bonnet  and  went  out. 

Lady  Moidart  watched  her  a  few  moments, 
and  concluded  she  was  going  to  walk  in  the 
private  park  attached  to  the  fashionable  square 
in  which  they  lived.  But  Sara  went  further 
than  the  park — went  through  many  a  busy 
street,  until  she  turned  into  a  silent  court  off  a 
great  thoroughfare,  and  found  at  the  head  of  it 
the  quiet  church  she  wanted.  How  strange  was 


Sara.  233: 

its  dimness  and  silence  in  the  very  heart  of  Lon 
don's  tide  of  life  and  turmoil.  She  glided  into  a 
seat,  in  order  to  recover  her  thoughts  and  com 
posure  befere  she  ventured  to  offer  her  petition ; 
and  it  was  not  many  moments  ere  she  felt  the 
soothing  influence  of  the  place. 

A  priest,  in  the  white  serge  robes  of  the 
Brotherhood  of  St.  Dominic,  knelt  motionless  on 
the  steps  of  the  altar.  There  were  a  number  of 
people  iri  the  church,  all  of  them  so  engrossed 
with  their  own  devotions  that  they  knew  not  of 
her  advent.  One  young  man,  evidently  from 
the  highest  social  ranks,  was  making  the  solemn 
way  of  the  cross.  He  was  in  a  rapture  of  medi 
tation  at  the  foot  of  the  crucifix  at  the  twelfth 
station.  His  hands  were  uplifted  and  clasped; 
his  face  raised  and  wet  with  tears.  To  him  Cal 
vary  and  the  Christ  upon  it  were  as  real  facts  as 
his  own  existence.  Not  far  from  him,  a  poor 
woman  was  whispering  a  heartful  of  grief  into 
Mary's  ear.  Like  Hannah  of  old,  "  she  was  in 
bitterness  of  soul,  and  she  wept  sore."  The  aged 


234  •     Sara. 

and  the  young,  the  rich  and  the  poor  were 
there,  each  with  their  own  sorrow,  or  hope,  or 
anxiety,  and  the  holy  silence  was  broken  by  no 
sound  but  the  sighing  of  the  suppliant,  or  the 
murmured  prayers  at  the  altars  or  the  stations. 

In  holy  meditation,  in  earnest  supplications, 
Sara  spent  her  morning.  She  had  much  to  give 
thanks  for ;  she  had  counsel  to  inquire  after  ; 
she  had  help  to  seek.  She  was  surrounded  by 
other  implorers,  but  she  was  alone  with  God. 
The  visit  she  had  expected  with  so  much  youth 
ful  eagerness,  was  over.  She  had  tried  the 
world  at  its  very  best,  tasted  of  all  its  pleasures, 
and  she  acknowledged  to  her  soul,  that  morning, 
that  a  day  in  God's  house  was  better  than  « 
thousand  elsewhere. 

She  had  gone  into  that  house  full  of  trouble 
and  anxiety  ;  she  came  away  from  it  with  a 
heart  at  rest.  There  she  had  left  all  her  worry 
ing  hopes  and  desires  about  Lenox.  There  she 
had  prayed  for  his  soul's  welfare  and  forever 
resigned  all  personal  affection  for  him.  In  the 


Sara.  235 

afternoon  she  expected  Mr.  Maclane.  He  had 
written  to  request  an  hour's  private  interview 
with  her,  and  she  understood  quite  well  the 
question  she  would  have  to  answer.  He  would 
ask  her  again  to  be  his  wife,  and  she  had 
resolved  to  accept  him.  Hence  her  solemn 
renunciation  of  Lord  Lenox.  In  the  future, 
every  thought  of  her  heart  must  be  for  the  man 
whose  wife  she  had  determined  to  be. 

She  had  no  misgivings  ;  she  had  put  the  last 
one  away.  If  she  were  not  in  love,  she  had  an 
affection  and  respect  for  him  which  she  did  not 
fear  to  trust.  She  honored  him,  for  he  deserved 
honor.  She  was  proud  of  his  political  position, 
proud  of  his  talents,  and  not  indifferent  to  his 
great  wealth.  All  her  life  long  she  had  known 
the  misery  that  comes  from  the  want  of  money. 
She  had  reproached  herself  throughout  the 
winter  because  of  Donald's  position  ;  but  if  Mr. 
Maclane  made  upon  her  the  settlement  he  pro 
posed,  she  would  have  gold  enough  to  realize 
every  good  intent,  every  loving  desire.  Her 


236 


Sara. 


union  with  him  could  make  so  many  others 
happy  beside  herself.  And,  surely,  she  thought 
a  marriage  of  that  kind  must  be  better  than  one 
which  gratified  only  a  single  selfish  love. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE   MINISTER  CALLS  ON  THE  BARON. 

"  Ingratitude,  thou  marble-hearted  fiend, 
More  hideous  when  thou  showest  thee  in  a  child 
Than  the  sea-monster !" 

"  Never  anger 
Made  good  guard  for  itself." 

The  temporary  settlement  of  the  expelled 
crofters  of  Easter-Torquil  in  the  church-yard  of 
Torquil  was  a  matter  of  very  serious  annoyance 
to  Sir  Rolfe ;  but  he  did  not  feel  as  if  he  dared  to 
clash  opinions  with  Father  Matthew  about  it. 
He  knew  that  he  had  no  legal  right  to  urge 
their  removal  from  it,  and  he  was  not  anxious  to 
enter  into  the  moral  right  of  the  question  in  any 
shape.  Yet  nothing  could  have  happened  so 


238     The  Minister  Calls  on  the  Baron. 

entirely  shocking  to  his  deepest  prejudices,  and 
so  really  uncomfortable  to  his  conscience.  It 
was  as  if  the  wronged  Torquils  had  appealed 
from  their  living  to  their  dead.  He  woke  up 
from  his  sleep  with  an  uncanny  feeling  of  the 
great  clan  behind  him  being  moved  to  wrath  by 
such  an  invasion  of  their  territory.  He  could 
barely  reassure  himself  by  considering  that  the 
chiefs  of  the  family  would  be  sure  to  understand 
and  approve  his  motives.  Had  any  of  them  in 
their  raids  on  their  neighbors,  or  in  their  fights 
with  the  Macdonalds,  ever  valued  the  lives  of 
the  men  they  led?  No.  They  had  sacrificed 
everything  for  the  honor  and  perpetuity  of  their 
sept;  and  he  was  only  doing  the  same  thing 
according  to  the  methods  of  the  age  in  which 
he  lived. 

Yet  there  was  some  troubled  spiritual  element 
in  the  castle.  Heavy  footfalls  were  heard  by 
all,  and  voices  as  deep  as  the  sound  of  multi 
tudes  in  one,  and  low,  mournful  sighs  thrilling 
an  atmosphere  sensitive  as  life,  and  which  to  the 


The  Minister  Calls  on  the  Baron.     239 

painfully  attent  ear  seemed  stirred  by  shadowy 
wings.  Doors  that  had  closed  for  generations 
were  found  open.  One  midnight,  the  great 
shield  of  Fergus  Torquil,  first  Earl  of  Ross,  fell 
to  the  ground  with  a  ringing  thud  that  woke 
every  one  in  the  castle  with  a  feeling  of  terror. 
Donald,  who  had  a  temperament  peculiarly 
responsive  to  any  spiritual  influence,  lived  dur 
ing  these  days  with  one  foot  in  the  other  world. 
And  his  confessor  was  too  wise  and  holy  a  man 
to  make  light  of  any  ascendancy  because  it  was 
beyond  mortal  understanding  and  analysis. 

"  God  has  nowhere  said  He  would  not  send 
spirits  to  warn  men;  and  Christ  by  implication 
taught  that  they  did  so  when  He  said  :  '  Though 
one  came  from  the  dead,' some  would  not  listen." 

"  But  surely,  dear  Father,  angels  fit  for  the 
perpetual  adoration  of  Heaven  will  not  soil  white 
souls  with  the  sins  and  sorrows  of  earth?" 

"  Service  is  adoration.  Are  they  not  all  min 
istering  spirits  ?  Angels  are  good  men  made 
perfect.  It  is  in  this  way  the  holy  Scriptures 


240     The  Minister  Calls  on  the  Baron. 

speak  of  them.  In  this  way,  also,  the  fathers  and 
saints  regarded  them.  The  first  angels  men 
tioned  in  the  Bible,  those  which  appeared  to 
Abraham,  are  called  '  three  men.'  The  angels 
that  appeared  to  Lot  are  called  '  two  men.' 
When  Manoah  said  to  the  angel  who  appeared 
to  him,  '  Art  thou  the  man  that  speaketh  unto 
the  woman  ?'  he  said,  '  I  am.'  The  angel  that 
appeared  to  St.  John  forbade  John  to  worship 
him,  saying, '  See  thou  do  it  not.  I  am  thy  fel 
low-servant  and  of  thy  brethren  that  have  the 
testimony  of  Jesus.'  If  the  angels  are  good  men 
made  perfect,  who  are  more  fit  to  minister  unto 
men,  to  warn  them  against  sin,  and  guide  them 
in  sorrow  ?  But  as  the  same  laws  operate  on 
the  good  and  on  the  evil,  may  not  wicked  and 
undeterminate  spirits  still  linger  between  two 
worlds,  troubled  by  the  things  of  earth  which 
still  hold  them  in  dominion  ?  In  that  inter 
mediate  world  which  the  Church  calls  purgatory 
— the  place  of  judgment — may  not  a  part  of  the 
soul's  punishment  depend  upon  its  knowledge  oj 


The  Minister  Calls  on  the  Bar  on.     241 

what  still  goes  on  among  the  things  of  which  it 
made  idols  ?  For  instance,  if  the  man  who 
served  gold  instead  of  God,  can  see  the  gold  for 
which  he  sinned  against  his  soul,  squandered  and 
wasted,  or  in  the  hands  of  those  whom  he 
wronged  or  hated,  how  great  and  how  fitting 
must  be  his  remorse  ! 

"  And  if  those  old  Torquils  who  committed  all 
kinds  of  outrages,  and  shed  blood  without  stint 
to  increase  the  number  and  power  of  their  clan, 
can  now  see  its  chief  scattering  and  wronging  it, 
counting  sheep  and  red  deer  as  of  more  value 
than  their  descendants,  no  wonder  they  are 
moved  and  troubled  even  beyond  the  grave.  It 
is  not  forbidden  us  to  think  of  these  things  if  we 
do  it  reverently." 

"Oh,  Father!  How  good  is  God  that  He 
permits  to  sinful  men  a  place  of  repentance  and 
of  expiation.  If  it  were  not  so — if  men  went  at 
once  to  Heaven  or  hell — " 

"  In  such  case,  my  son,  men  must  be  thor 
oughly  heavenly  or  thoroughly  infernal  before 


242      The  Minister  Calls  on  the  Baron. 

death.  Very  few  mortals  are  either.  Heaven 
and  hell  are  not  next-door  neighbors.  Christ 
taught  us  that  between  the  two  there  is  a  great 
gulf — the  state  or  place  of  judgment.  It  can  do 
you  no  harm  to  live  as  if  surrounded  by  those 
whom  you  will  meet  in  the  eternal  world.  Even 
from  a  good  supposition  you  may  derive  good." 
This  conversation  occurred  nearly  a  week 
after  Donald's  letter  had  been  sent  to  Sara. 
Father  Matthew  had  supplemented  it  with  a  few 
lines  from  his  own  hand,  and  the  answer  arrived 
just  as  Donald  was  rising  to  leave.  The  good 
priest's  face  brightened  as  if  it  had  caught  sun 
shine,  and  as  he  read  the  letter  aloud  to  Donald 
his  eyes  shone  with  the  glad  soul  behind  them : 

"BELOVED  AND  RESPECTED  FATHER:  In  reply  to  your 
request,  I  say  this — keep  the  people  together.  I  shall  be 
home  in  a  very  short  time,  and  I  am  sure  that  I  shall  bring 
help.  Lady  Moidart  incloses  ten  pounds  to  buy  meal  for 
them.  Pray  for  me,  dear  Father,  for  I  am  about  to  take 
steps  on  a  new  road.  Pray,  then,  for  your  dear  child  in 
Christ.  SARA  TORQUIL." 

"  It  is  good  news,  Father.     I  felt  sure  it  would 


The  Minister  Calls  on  the  Baron.     243 

come.    Also,  I  think  there  will  be  a  letter  for 
me,  and  so  1  will  hasten  home." 

Donald  was  not  disappointed,  and  Sara  had 
been  much  more  explicit  to  him  than  to  Father 
Matthew. 

"  I  am  going  to  marry  Andrew  Maclane,  dear  brother,"  she 
said.  "  I  am  going  to  marry  him  because  I  love  and  respect 
him  ;  because  he  will  make  me  happy;  because  I  am  sure  he 
will  be  a  good  brother  to  you,  and  because  I  am  sure  I  shall 
never  be  sorry  or  ashamed  for  the  step  I  am  going  to  take. 
I  may  not  love  him  as  Juliet  loved  Romeo,  but  I  have  a  noble 
and  sensible  regard  for  my  intended  husband.  We  shall  be 
true  husband  and  wife,  true  friends,  true  companions,  true 
workers  together  in  everything  that  we  believe  to  be  right 
and  good.  I  intend  to  take  his  advice,  and  ask  his  help 
about  the  Torquils.  I  shall  do  it  at  once.  He  will  under 
stand  how  best  they  can  be  provided  for,  without  hurting  our 
father's  prejudices  and  his  pride.  We  must  remember  that 
any  help  to  them  is  interference  with  his  affairs,  and  respect 
his  feelings.  I  should  think  Father  Matthew  the  best  vehicle 
for  assistance,  but  Andrew  Maclane  will  know  just  what 
ought  to  be  done,  I  am  sure.  Because  I  put  him  first  in  this 
matter  do  not  think  that  any  one  can  ever  take  your  share  of 
my  love.  My  brother  !  My  dear  brother !  In  your  place  you 
will  always  reign  supreme  in  Sara's  heart." 

With  an  affectionate  pride,  he  slowly  refolded 


244      The  Minister  Calls  on  the  Baron. 

the  comforting  letter.  To  be  loved  so  fondly  by 
two  such  women  as  Sara  Torquil  and  Roberta 
Balfour  was  surely  a  great  blessing. 

He  turned  to  the  window  and  looked  over  the 
sea.  It  was  brightly  blue,  and  dimpling  all  over 
in  the  sunshine.  His  boat  lay  rocking  at  anchor, 
and  the  temptation  to  set  her  free  and  go  flying 
before  the  wind  was  too  great  to  be  resisted. 
Yet,  though  his  father  sought  neither  advice  nor 
sympathy  from  him,  he  knew  that  he  was  sick 
and  troubled,  and  he  did  not  wish  to  leave  Tas- 
mer  if  there  were  any  prospect  of  rendering  aid 
to  him.  Sir  Rolfe  politely  declined  his  society. 

"  There  is  nothing  you  can  do.  Factor 
Frazer,"  he  said,  bitterly,  "  will  attend  to  such 
affairs  as  are  urgent.  By  all  means,  go  to  sea,  if 
you  wish  to  go.  The  servants  assert  the  castle 
to  be  a  very  undesirable  human  habitation.  1 
suppose  their  terrors  have  affected  you.  Have 
you  heard  from  Sara?" 

"  Yes,  sir.     I  had  a  letter  this  afternoon." 


The  Minister  Calls  on  the  Baron.     245 

"  Did  she  tell  you  of  her  approaching  mar 
riage  with  Mr.  Maclane?" 

"  She  did,  sir." 

"  Do  you  approve  of  it  !'* 

"  1  do,  sir  ;  very  much." 

"  That  is  satisfactory.  I  had  begun  to  think  it 
was  impossible  to  please  you." 

"  If  I  could  please  you,  sir,  that  would  make 
me  happier  than  any  other  event." 

Something  in  the  young  man's  face  and  voice 
touched  his  father.  He  answered  more  kindly  : 

"  It  is  hard,  Donald,  for  age  and  youth  to  think 
alike.  In  a  few  years  you  wilt  remember  your 
attitude  at  this  time  with  regret.  You  will  wish 
you  had  stood  at  your  father's  side  and  helped 
to  bear  a  burden  almost  too  much  for  him  to 
bear  alone.  Go  away  for  a  few  days.  Times  of 
change  are  always  painful.  When  Sara  is  mar 
ried,  I  will  talk  with  you  about  your  future. 
All  shall  be  done  for  your  welfare  that  is  possible." 

He  spoke  so  sadly,  and  yet  so  kindly,  that 
Donald  ventured  to  offer  his  hand.  Sir  Rolfe 


246      The  Minister  Calls  on  the  Baron. 

held  it  a  moment,  and  ere  he  turned  again  to  his 
papers,  wished  him  a  pleasant  sail :  adding : 

"  By  the  way,  if  you  should  go  northward  try 
to  find  out  something  about  that  Melvich.  I  am 
not  going  to  submit  to  his  encroachments.  He 
says  I  have  no  legal  right  in  the  waters  we  have 
fished  for  a  thousand  years.  Legal  right, 
indeed  !  Use  and  wont  have  some  rights,  too,  I 
suppose!" 

And  Donald,  wondering  that  he  could  not  see 
the  same  law  applied  to  the  ejected  crofters, 
went  to  his  boat  with  the  sense  of  a  bird  set  free, 
and  took  her  out  of  harbor.  It  was  near  the 
gloaming ;  the  breeze  was  light  and  the  sea 
rising  and  falling  with  a  lazy  send. 

Just  outside  the  harbor  he  met  a  boat  making 
for  it.  She  was  not  a  fishing-boat,  and  she  had 
a  familiar  look.  He  wondered  a  little  where 
he  had  seen  her  before  ;  but  he  never  suspected 
that  it  was  an  Ellerloch  smack  having  Mr.  Bal- 
four  on  board.  She  came  to  land  easily,  the 
anchor  chain  flew  out,  and  the  minister  landed 


The  Minister  Calls  on  the  Baron.     247 

and  stood  for  a  moment  looking  around  him. 
He  had  the  air  of  a  man  bent  upon  some  special 
errand ;  his  face  was  somber  and  set,  his  move 
ments  without  hurry  and  without  hesitation. 
He  stopped  two  fishers  and  asked  them  the  way 
to  Sir  Rolfe  Torquil's  house,  and  they  looked 
queerly  at  him,  and  said  : 

"  The  castle  wass  on  the  hill-top  whateffer," 
and  then  noticing  his  clerical  dress,  they  removed 
their  caps  and  added  :  "  It  iss  through  the  fir- 
woodt  you  will  haf  to  go,  sir,  and,  maype,  it  iss 
Father  Matthew  you  will  pe  seeing  first." 

"  Who  is  Father  Matthew  ?" 

"  Father  Matthew  Contach !  He  iss  the 
priest,  praise  God,  and  he  is  a  goot  man,  mir- 
over.  In  the  churchyard  you  will  pe  seeing  him 
now,  if  you  will  pe  going  there." 

Then  they  left  him,  and  Mr.  Balfour  went 
toward  the  church,  which  was  a  notable  land 
mark  in  the  place.  The  scene  in  the  church 
yard  instantly  arrested  him.  It  was  near  the 
hour  for  the  last  meal  of  the  day.  The  fires 


248      The  Minister  Calls  on  the  Baron. 

under  the  booths  were  burning  brightly,  the 
women  were  busy  about  the  boiling  kettles,  the 
men  were  spreading  pallets  of  bracken  and 
blankets,  and  the  priest,  easily  distinguished  both 
by  his  habit  and  his  air  of  authority,  was  stand 
ing  among  a  group  evidently  explaining  some 
thing  to  them. 

Two  women  carrying  fish  and  milk  passed,  and 
he  stopped  them  and  asked  the  meaning  of  such 
a  singular  sight.  They  told  the  story  of  the 
clearance  of  Easter-Torquil,  and  he  was  amazed 
at  their  patience.  When  he  expressed  his  opin 
ion  of  Sir  Rolfe  Torquil,  one  of  them,  with  a 
movement  of  disapprobation  and  pride,  said  : 

"You  will  pe  a  stranger,  sir;  there  iss  no 
stranger  that  can  pe  knowing  the  Torquil.  It 
will  not  pe  hiss  fault  whateffer;  there  wass  bat 
men  at  hiss  side,  and  they  did  make  him  do 
what  wass  not  in  hiss  heart.  It  iss  bat  men.  It 
iss  not  the  Torquil  whateffer." 

That  was  not  Mr.  Balfour's  opinion.  He  had 
a  feeling  of  satisfaction  in  discovering  that  these 


The  Minister  Calls  on  the  Baron.     249 

Torquils  were  as  bad  as  he  had  decided  they 
were.  He  was  not  aware  of  this  unworthy  sat 
isfaction,  for  he  was  too  much  exercised  about 
other  matters  to  enter  into  any  form  of  self- 
examination,  so  he  again  and  again  assured 
himself : 

"  He  is  a  bad  man,  a  heartless  and  unjust  man. 
No  wonder  he  has  a  false  and  selfish  son.  I  will 
not  spare  him  a  word  of  the  truth,  not  I !" 

To  such  thoughts  he  walked  rapidly  up  to 
Tasmer,  and  reached  it  just  as  Fergus  was  light- 
ing  the  great  hall.  He  gave  him  his  card  with 
the  information  that  he  wished  to  see  Sir  Rolfe 
without  delay.  In  his  way,  Balfour  was  as  much 
a  man  of  authority  as  Sir  Rolfe  himself.  Fergus 
looked  at  him  with  respect  and  curiosity.  A 
Free-Kirk  minister  was  not  a  familiar  sight  to 
him,  but  he  quickly  decided  that  the  visitor  was 
an  ecclesiastic  of  some  order,  and  he  gave  him 
the  low  obedience  and  the  reverential  speech 
which  he  kept  entirely  for  powers  spiritual. 

To  Sir  Rolfe  the  sight  of  the  card  was  a  pleas- 


250      The  Minister  Calls  on  the  Baron. 

ant  interruption  to  his  own  unhappy  brooding. 
He  was  in  hopes  that  it  introduced  some  of  the 
neighboring  Highland  gentlemen,  with  whom  he 
could  discuss  the  clearance  policy,  and  bv  so 
doing  re-assure  his  own  mind.  The  "  Rev. 
David  Balfour  "  puzzled  him.  Catholic  ecclesi 
astics  were  not  accustomed  to  carry  visiting- 
cards  in  their  vestments,  and  he  knew  none  of 
the  Protestant  clergy  in  the  vicinity.  But  he 
was  inclined  for  company,  and  not  averse  to 
gather  opinions  from  all  sources  upon  the  one 
question  which  interested  him. 

So,  as  Mr.  Balfour  entered  the  room,  he  rose 
with  blended  dignitv  and  courtesy,  directing 
Fergus  by  a  glance  to  place  a  chair  near  himself 
for  Mr.  Balfour's  use.  He  did  not  take  it,  but 
remained  standing,  with  one  hand  firmly  grasp 
ing  the  back. 

"  To  what  circumstance  am  I  obliged  for  the 
honor  of  your  visit,  sir  ?" 

"  If  there  be  any  honor  in  the  visit,  sir,  it 
belongs  to  my  office.  I  am  but  one  mortal 


The  Minister  Calls  on  the  Baron.     251 

seeking  speech  with  another  mortal — very 
unhappily  so,  for  your  son  has  done  me  and 
mine  a  great  wrong,  and  1  come  to  ask  you  to 
restrain  him  in  its  commission." 

"  I  am  grieved  and  amazed  at  what  you  say. 
I  can  scarcely  credit  such  an  accusation  without 
particulars." 

"  I  blame  you  not  for  that.  I  will  give  you  the 
particulars.  Last  autumn,  I  met  Donald  Torquil 
at  sea  in  some  danger.  I  helped  him  clear  away 
his  wreckage,  and  brought  his  boat  into  Ellerloch 
Bay.  There  was  every  appearance  of  a  stormy 
night.  I  offered  him  the  shelter  ot  my  home. 
He  came  again,  and  again,  and  again.  I  have  a 
daughter,  a  beautiful  girl  of  eighteen.  I  need 
not  tell  you  what  he  came  for.  He  has  out 
raged  my  hospitality  in  the  most  cruel  way." 

"  Then,  sir,  though  he  be  my  only  son,  I  say 
he  is  a  scoundrel ;  and  he  shall  right  the  girl  he 
has  wronged,  or  see  my  face  no  more." 

"  You  are  going  too  far,  sir.  I  think  my 
Roberta  pure  beyond  the  breath  of  suspicion  ; 


25 2      The  Minister  Calls  on  the  Baron. 

but  he  has  won  her  love,  weaned  her  heart  from 
her  own  life  and  all  its  simple  duties.  He  has 
interfered  between  our  affection,  broken  our 
confidence  in  each  other,  and  made  a  happy 
home  full  of  doubts  and  anxieties  and  restless 
ness.  She  is  all  I  have.  He  has  stolen  her 
from  me." 

"  Oh,  this  is  a  different  thing,  Mr.  Balfour. 
Donald  has  acted  imprudently,  but  I  think  your 
accusation  of  outraging  your  hospitality  quite 
too  far-fetched — indeed,  very  unjust.  The  Tor- 
quils  are  honorable  men.  When  my  son  is 
absent  I  must  defend  his  honor  for  him." 

"  What  the  Torquils  have  been,  I  know  not. 
The  present  Torquils  are  not  honorable  men. 
Your  son,  the  first  night  of  our  acquaintance, 
was  well  aware  a  marriage  with  my  daughter 
was  out  of  all  consideration.  Yet  he  did  not 
scruple  to  seek  her  affections,  though  he  knew 
well  that  I  never  would  permit  her  to  be  his 
wife." 

"  It  seems  to  me,  Mr.  Balfour,  that  you  were 


The  Minister  Calls  on  the  Baron.     253 

as  dishonorable  as  my  son.  If  he  knew  a  mar- 
riage  with  your  daughter  was  impossible,  you 
must  have  known  it  also.  Why  did  you  allow 
him  to  come  again  and  again  ?" 
"  Because  I  knew  not  who  he  was." 
"  Did  he  visit  you  under  a  false  name?" 
"  He  told  me  truly  that  his  name  was  Donald 
Torquil,  and  that  he  lived  sixty  miles  or  more  to 
the  southward,  in  the  Kintail  district.  But 
what  did  that  signify?  I  knew  no  more  of  the 
Torquils  than  I  did  of  the  hundreds  of  other 
gentlemen  in  Ross.  I  saw  only  a  tall,  well-made 
youth,  with  a  bright  face,  reddish  hair  and  win 
ning  manners.  I  am  a  Free-Kirk  minister. 
When  I  read  the  Scriptures  and  worshiped  with 
my  family,  he  joined  in  the  worship  without 
protest  or  remark.  I  supposed  him  to  be  a 
Protestant.  He  deceived  me  at  the  very  first 
concerning  the  most  sacred  of  all  subjects, 
between  God  and  man,  or  man  and  man." 
"  Sir,  you  confess  yourself  to  be  an  exceeding 


254     The  Minister  Calls  on  the  Baron. 

bigot.  My  son  behaved  only  with  the  toleration 
of  a  Christian  and  a  gentleman." 

"  If  it  had  been  only  for  that  once,  yes.  I 
would  then  never  have  come  here  with  a  com 
plaint.  He  was  a  traitor  to  his  faith,  and  to  his 
host,  over  and  over,  week  after  week,  month 
after  month,  until  his  object  was  accomplished  ; 
until  my  child's  life  had  been  made  miserable, 
and  the  joy  and  content  of  my  own  home  des 
troyed.  For  the  Torquils,  being  who  and  what 
they  are,  I  would  pray  God  to  slay  my  Roberta 
ere  she  became  one  of  them." 

"  The  Torquils  are  gentlemen  or  their  head 
had  not  borne  so  patiently  your  unwarranted 
abuse  of  them  in  their  own  castle.  It  strikes  me 
that  it  is  I  and  not  you  who  ought  to  complain 
in  this  matter.  Whatever  may  be  your  opinion 
of  yourself  and  your  office,  I  can  assure  you,  sir, 
that  Donald  Torquil  would  commit  an  unpar 
donable  offense  against  his  house  and  his  order 
and  his  religion  if  he  married  Miss  Balfour.  I 
for  one,  would  never  speak  to  him  again.  I 


The  Minister  Calls  on  the  Baron.     255 

should  never  recognize  the  young  woman  as  my 
daughter.  She  would  gain  nothing  socially,  as 
long  as  I  lived,  from  the  marriage." 

"  You  could  give  her  nothing  socially.  The 
Balfours  have  a  spotless  name  in  Scotland's  his 
tory.  They  will  never  unite  it  with  one  against 
which  tyranny,  idolatry,  rapine,  injustice  and 
cruelty  are  written." 

"  Sir !  You  go  too  far — much  too  far  !  Sir, 
you  will  make  me  forget — "  and  Sir  Rolfe  rose 
hastily  and.  stood  glaring  at  his  accuser.  He 
was  whit^.with  rage,  quivering  in  every  limb, 
but  making  supreme  efforts  to  control  his  pas 
sion. 

"  Jacobites !  Papists !  Robbers  of  the  poor, 
because  they  are  poor.  I  will  not  have  my  child 
made  a  partaker  of  the  curse  that  will  be  your 
inheritance." 

Balfour's  face  was  stern,  almost  fierce,  but  he 
spoke  with  an  even,  slow  intensity,  which  was 
unendurable  to  the  nervous,  passionate  man 
before  him.  His  answer  was  a  torrent  of  con- 


256     The  Minister  Calls  on  the  Baron. 

^emptuous  reproach  and  accusation ;  and  his 
vehement  speech  brought  Fergus — uncalled — 
into  the  room.  The  intrusion  was  most  fortu 
nate.  Sir  Rolfe's  hand  had  gone  more  than 
v>nce  to  the  spot  on  which  his  sword  had  been 
wont  to  hang.  His  whole  attitude  was  that  of  a 
man  on  the  point  of  flinging  himself  upon  his 
enemy. 

But  when  Fergus  came  in  he  looked  with  a 
grateful  relief  toward  him  and  gasped  out : 

"  Show  that  man — to — the  door,  Fergus !" 

Then,  with  a  low,  inarticulate  cr) ,  he  threw 
open  the  oratory,  fell  at  the  foot  of  the  cross 
and  clasped  the  pierced  feet  of  the  Christ  in  his 
hands  with  sobs  and  ejaculations  : 

"  I  detest  my  sins,  O  Lord !  .  .  .  I  seek 
refuge  in  Thy  Mercy  !  .  .  .  I  have  sinned 
exceedingly — through  my  fault !  Through  my 
fault!  Through  my  most  grievous  fault !" 

This  act,  so  unexpected,  so  amazing,  com 
pletely  silenced  and  subdued  the  minister.  The 
living,  palpable  faith  of  the  Catholic,  which 


The  Minister  Calls  on  the  Baron.     257 


makes  his  private  religion  a  thing  supreme  at  all 
hours — a  thing  of  which  he  never  feels  ashamed 
— humbled  the  angry  man.  In  his  own  church, 
in  his  own  household,  he  prayed  readily  before 
all ;  but  he  would  have  been  abashed  and 
troubled  if  Roberta  even  had  seen  him  at  his 
private  devotions.  The  simple  unconsciousness 
of  the  spiritual  distress  he  witnessed  overcame 
his  anger.  He  went  out  of  the  room  like  a  chid 
den  child. 

Fergus  followed  him  down-stairs  with  dislike 
and  fear,  and  when  they  reached  the  hall  he  set 
the  door  wide  open  for  him.  At  its  threshold 
David  Balfour  stood  a  moment,  and  t^en  said : 

"  Tell  Sir  Rolfe  Torquil  that  I  regret  the  pas 
sionate  words  I  spoke  ;  ill  words  may  be  true 
words,  but  it  is  better  not  to  give  them  way." 

"  There  will  pe  no  ill  wordts  that  will  pe  true 
wordts  of  the  Torquil  whateffer — no  inteet,  praise 
God  !  And  the  ill-speaker  will  pe  taking  the  ill 
wordts  with  him,  mirover.  Yes,  and  the  door 
xvill  pe  shut  upon  them." 


258      The  Minister  Calls  on  the  Baron. 

And  then  the  great  doors  of  Tasmer  clashed 
together  with  a  clamor  that  set  the  old  spears 
and  shields  rattling  on  the  walls,  and  sent  Fergus 
at  a  rapid  pace  to  the  lighted  kitchen,  feeling  as 
if  an  army  of  dead  Torquils  were  gathering 
behind  him. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

SARA'S  REQUEST. 

"  Heart  with  heart,  and  hand  in  hand, 

Go  upon  your  way ; 
Pleasant  is  the  promised  land 
You're  entering1  to-day. 
Corn  it  has  and  wine, 

Field  for  work  and  play, 
On  it  love  divine 

Sheds  benignant  ray." 

The  statues,  the  ornaments  and  the  fine  fur- 
niture  of  Lady  Moidart's  drawing-room  were 
all  packed  away,  or  carefully  shrouded  in  linen ; 
as  were  also  the  great  crystal  chandeliers ;  but 
upon  a  table  lit  by  temporary  hand-lamps,  there 
were  spread  out  gems  of  wonderful  beauty  and 
great  price  ;  diamonds  and  sapphires  and  pearls 
of  purest  tint.  Sara  Torquil  and  Andrew 


£60  Saras  Request. 

Maclane  stood  looking  at  them.  Her  hand  was 
clasped  in  his ;  she  leaned  her  beautiful  head 
against  his  shoulder;  the  light  of  perfeclly 
happy,  trustful  affection  was  on  both  faces. 

"  Choose  which  you  prefer,  dearest,  and  give 
me  one  more  pleasure." 

"  The  blue  sapphires,  the  sparkling  diamonds, 
the  moonlight  pearls,  all  are  lovely,  Andrew  ; 
but — "  and  she  lifted  the  string  of  oriental  pearls 
and  looked  at  them  with  a  wistful  admiration. 

"  But  what,  Sara  ?" 

"  I  want  a  richer  betrothal  gift  than  any  of 
these.'! 

No  shadow  darkened  his  face ;  the  moment 
she  had  spoken  the  words  he  comprehended  that 
he  should  approve  them,  whatever  their  meaning. 

"It  is  not  gems  you  want;  then  what  is  it, 
love?* 

Then  she  told  him  of  all  the  sorrow  there  was 
at  Torquil,  and  of  Donald's  and  Father  Mat- 
thews's  letters,  and  before  she  had  finished 


Saras  Request.  261 

speaking,  his  clear  mind  had  foreseen  her  request 
and  granted  it. 

"  You  wish  me  to  give  the  money  which  we 
were  going  to  spend  on  jewels  to  make  ne\V 
homes  for  these  homeless  peasants?  That  is 
your  desire,  Sara?"  '  i 

"  That  is  my  desire,  dear  Andrew." 

"  But  I  can  do  both — do  both  easily  ;  and  1 
shall  be  glad  to  do  both.  Most  of  them,  you  say, 
are  Torquils.  Any  one  bearing  your  name  has 
a  claim  upon  me.  I  could  not  see  a  Torquil 
homeless,  and  not  help  him." 

"  But  I  also  want  a  share  in  this  pleasure.  1 
want  to  offer  these  lovely  pearls  to  Divine  mercy 
and  charity — to  make  a  thank-offering  of  them, 
and  so  bring  God's  smile  upon  our  marriage." 

He  drew  her  closer  and  kissed  her  solemnly, 
He  made  no  further  objection.  He  did  not  ask 
her  once  more  to  accept  them.  The  confidential 
clerk,  who  had  brought  them  in  a  guarded  cab, 
received  them  all  again,  and  they  sat  down 


262  Saras  Request. 

together  to  talk  more  fully  over  the  good  work 
they  had  undertaken. 

Sara  was  enthusiastic  in  it ;  Maclane  was 
enthusiastic  in  giving  her  pleasure,  but  he  did 
not  disguise  the  fact  that  he  was  only  partially  on 
the  side  of  the  crofter. 

"  I  feel  very  sorry  for  Sir  Rolfe,"  he  said, 
"  and  this  matter  must  be  entirely  managed  by 
Father  Contach.  Even  Donald  ought  not  to 
seem  by  interference  to  imply  disapproval  of  Sir 
Rolfe's  plans.  For,  indeed,  Sara,  there  are  very 
few  Englishmen  who  would  blame  him.  If  it 
were  necessary  for  my  solvency  to  shut  my 
works  and  mills,  I  am  sure  I  should  do  so. 
Upward  of  two  thousand  people  might  be  made 
homeless  by  the  act,  and  I  should  deeply  regret 
it,  but  I  should  still  think  it  was  my  duty  to  save 
my  credit  and  my  estate.  In  another  way,  this 
is  your  father's  position.  There  is  a  romantic 
sentiment,  a  historical  tie  behind  it,  which  makes 
the  position  harder  for  both  ;  but  upon  the  whole, 
Sara,  my  sympathies  are  mostly  with  Sir  Rolfe." 


Sara's   Request.  263 

"  You  think  the  people  wrong  ?" 

"  No,  I  do  not.  This  is  a  case  in  which  Sir 
Rolfe  is  right  and  the  people  not  wrong.  The 
situation  is  altogether  out  of  tune  with  the  time. 
And  the  moral  effect  upon  Sir  Rolfe  is  far 
more  trying  than  it  is  on  the  peasant ;  for  when 
a  man  is  called  cruel  and  unjust,  it  is  difficult  for 
him  not  to  become  so.  However,  dear  Sara,  how 
can  we  ask  a  blessing  upon  our  own  home  better 
than  by  giving  homes  to  those  who  are  homeless 
— '  the  blessing  of  those  ready  to  perish  '  is  not  to 
be  despised." 

This  conversation  indicates  very  well  the  one 
which  followed  it  with  Father  Matthew.  Mr. 
Maclane  was  anxious  to  be  unknown  in  the  mat 
ter  ;  but  it  was  his  money  which  brought  the  ship 
into  Torquil  harbor,  which  provided  all  neces 
saries  for  a  comfortable  voyage  to  North  Caro 
lina,  which  placed  in  the  hand  of  every  provider 
a  sum  sufficient  to  lift  care  from  their  hearts  and 
to  give  them  courage  to  face  the  future. 

Sir  Rolfe  had  no  anger    toward  the  outcasts, 


264  Saras  Request. 

and  they  had  very  speedily  forgiven  him.  After 
all  he  was  the  Torquil.  The  feudal  feeling  still 
lingered  in  the  hearts.  Most  of  the  men  went  up 
to  Tasmer  to  shake  his  hand  ;  not  a  few  of  the 
elder  ones  wept  as  they  affectionately  bowed 
their  lips  to  it.  Sir  Rolfe  felt  his  own  eyes  grow 
dim,  for  the  mysterious  power  in  the  tie  of  blood 
is  not  to  be  put  away ;  and  when  old  Hector 
Torquil  sobbed  out :  "  My  chief,  my  chief,  fare 
well!"  he  took  his  gold  snuff-box  and  put  it  into 
his  hand,  saying : 

"  It  has  my  name  and  crest  upon  it,  Hector. 
You  are  the  oldest  living  Torquil  ;  you  must  be 
the  leader  of  the  people  in  the  new  land.  Let 
them  do  nothing  to  shame  the  name.  We  part 
now.  We  shall  meet  again — beyond  the  grave." 

Maclane  was  present  at  this  interview,  and  he 
watched  the  scene  with  many  complex  feelings. 
In  spite  of  his  great  age,  Hector  was  a  fine  old 
man,  with  the  erect,  up-head  carriage  of  an  old 
soldier.  When  he  had  gone  away,  Sir  Rolfe  said : 

"  He  was  a  grand  man  with  a  bayonet.     I  saw 


Sara's  Request.  265 

him  in  ten  engagements.  He  was  fort}'  years  in 
the  army.  Ross  used  to  be  the  great  recruiting 
ground.  When  I  got  my  commission,  I  was 
followed  by  sixty  strapping  fellows  from  these 
very  hills.  No  one  will  now  take  the  queen's 
shilling.  Their  military  spirit  is  dead." 

"  I  do  not  wonder  at  it,  Sir  Rolfe.  Hector 
Torquil,  you  say,  fought  the  battles  of  his 
country  for  fort}7  years  ;  and  at  the  end,  what 
has  he  for  his  patriotism  ?  A  tent  in  the  church 
yard,  or  exile  to  America.  The  feudal  feeling 
that  made  sixty  strapping  fellows  follow  you  to 
the  army  is  nearly  destroyed  ;  and  beside,  these 
people  feel  themselves  to  have  been  unjustly  and 
cruelly  treated.  They  may  be  wrong,  or  they 
may  be  right,  but  the  feeling  exists ;  and  wher 
ever  it  does  exist,  it  kills  enthusiasm  on  any 
other  subject.  I  am  not  blaming  you  for  it,  Sir 
Rolfe — not  in  the  least.  Your  order  have  deter 
mined  upon  a  certain  course  for  their  own  pre 
servation  ;  you  must  go  with  them,  or  go  to  ruin.** 

"  It  is  the  truth." 


CHAPTER    XV. 
TASMER'S  SUMMER. 

It  was  a  great  relief  when  the  ship,  with  the 
little  colony  on  board  her,  sailed.  She  went  in 
the  night ;  went  so  silently  that  very  few  knew 
when  she  lifted  her  anchor.  Father  Matthew 
had  heard  their  solemn  confession,  and  said 
prayers  for  their  safety  before  they  embarked. 
He  had  gone  on  board  in  the  evening,  and  gath 
ered  them  on  deck,  and  read  the  vesper  service, 
and  sung  a  hymn  with  them,  and  given  all  his 
blessing.  They  knew  not,  however,  that  they 
would  see  his  face  no  more.  If  there  were  such 
a  thought  in  any  heart,  no  one  liked  to  whisper 
it ;  and  their  last  memory  of  him  was  brightened 
by  the  smile  with  which  he  lifted  his  face  to  the 


Tasmers  Summer.  267 

ship  from  the  small  boat  carrying  him  back  to 
the  shore.  , 

Donald  took  a  more  active  interest  in  the 
event  than  Sir  Rolfe.  He  was  in  many  respects 
Father  Matthews's  right  hand  concerning  the 
innumerable  details  of  so  large  an  immigration. 
A  feeling  of  great  kindness  and  of  sympathy, 
unspoken  but  understood,  was  between  the 
clan  and  himself,  and  their  parting  was  not 
embittered  by  any  misunderstanding  or  wrong 
judgment  of  each  other.  In  the  farewell  service 
on  board,  Donald  joined  them.  Their  last  act 
had  been  to  pray  together  and  to  clasp  each 
other's  hands.  In  the  morning,  when  he  looked 
over  the  bay,  the  ship  was  gone,  the  people  had 
vanished  from  sight  forever.  He  was  thankful 
that  the  separation  had  been  made  at  last  so 
kindly ;  so  much  better  than  he  had  dared  to 
think  it  would  be. 

It  gave  him  courage  to  hope  that  his  own 
immediate  affairs  would  be  settled  for  him  as 
favorably ;  though  where  Roberta  was  con- 


268  Tasmers   Summer. 

eernedr  the  whole  horizon  seemed  dark  to  him. 
His  last  interview  with  her  had  been  during 
Mr.  Balfour's  visit  to  Sir  Rolfe  Torquil. 
Roberta  suspected  the  motive  of  her  father's 
journey ;  and  Donald  remembered  the  strange 
yet  familiar  cratt  he  had  passed  at  the  entrance 
to  Torquil  Harbor.  To  the  lovers,  it  was  evi 
dent  Mr.  Balfour  intended  to  secure  Sir  Rolfe's 
co-operation  in  order  to  finally  separate  them. 
They  were  carried  away  with  love  and  sorrow. 
They  vowed  to  stand  by  each  other  unto  death. 
Under  such  circumstances  their  love  assumed 
an  exaggerated  importance.  Being  the  one  end 
and  aim  of  their  own  lives,  they  fell  into  the 
error  of  imagining  that  it  was  equally  momen 
tous  to  every  one  else.  There  is  a  luxury  of 
grief  which  love  frequently  delights  in.  Donald 
and  Roberta,  who  found  the  world  in  each 
other,  found,  also,  some  strange,  sorrowful  satis 
faction  in  believing  the  whole  world  was  against 
them.  Donald  spent  nearly  two  days  at  Eller- 
loch,  and  during  this  time  won  a  promise  from 


Tasmer's  Summer.  269 

Roberta  to  marry  him  so  soon  as  he  got  his 
commission. 

The  thought  of  military  life  was  not  unpleas 
ant  to  her.  After  the  stillness  of  Ellerloch,  its 
stir  and  change  filled  her  with  pleasant  anticipa 
tions.  She  knew  that  her  father  was  expecting 
a  call  from  a  church  in  the  vicinity  of  Edinburg, 
and  she  believed  that  he  had  sought  it  for  the 
express  purpose  of  separating  her  from  Donald. 
If  she  did  leave  him,  he  would  have  once  more 
the  society  and  friendship  of  the  scholars  and 
divines  whom  he  loved  and  honored.  She  did 
not  doubt  but  he  would  forgive  her,  as  soon  as 
he  realized  she  had  taken  an  irrevocable  step ; 
and  she  lulled  her  conscience  to  rest  with  all  the 
specious  arguments  that  love-sick,  disobedient 
daughters  have  ever  been  accustomed  to  use. 

So  Donald  felt  more  at  ease.  However 
restrained  his  intercourse  with  Roberta  might  be 
during  the  summer  months,  he  would  surely  be 
able  to  marry  her  in  the  autumn.  Roberta  had 
not  been  used  to  a  luxurious  life.  Upon  his  pay 


270  Tasmers  Summer. 

they  could  live  comfortably,  if  Sir  Rolfe  cut  off 
his  allowance,  which  he  admitted  was  a  very 
likely  result.  He  thought,  as  so  many  have 
foolishly  thought,  that  the  world  would  be  well 
lost  for  love ;  that  Roberta  would  be  better  and 
more  than  father  and  honor  and  family  and 
money  and  prestige  and  social  respect  and 
domestic  comfort.  Roberta  and  he  were  to  be 
happy  under  circumstances  which  had  been 
always  fatal  to  the  happiness  of  others.  No  one 
had  ever  loved  as  they  loved  ;  no  one,  therefore, 
had  ever  given  the  world  well  lost  for  love  a 
trial  before.  Roberta  thought  just  as  Donald 
thought.  They  were  living  a  romance  of  their 
own  making,  and  finding  even  in  its  contradic 
tions  and  sorrows  and  oppositions  a  happiness 
of  their  own. 

Roberta  watched  her  father  with  much 
interest  and  curiosity  when  he  returned  from 
his  visit  to  Sir  Rolfe.  She  could  not  under 
stand  him.  He  made  no  allusion  to  Donald. 
He  seemed  to  relax  his  covert,  continued  watch- 


Tasmers  Summer.  271 

fulness  of  her.  In  fact,  the  minister  was  some 
what  astonished  at  himself.  That  passionate 
appeal  of  his  enemy  to  the  Christ  upon  the  cross 
had  given  him  a  moral  stupefaction;  that  par 
tial  glimpse  of  the  large,  white,  shadowy  cruci 
fix,  that  utter  self-humiliation  of  the  proud 
npbleman  at  its  foot,  that  passionately  penitent 
cry,  "  My  fault !  My  fault !"  was  incompre 
hensible  to  him.  What  vital  sorrow  possessed 
this  man  ?  He  knew  that  he  himself  would 
have  died  rather  than  have  made  such  a  con 
fession  before  any  mortal.  The  scene  and  the 
words  haunted  him  continually.  He  did  not  feel 
satisfied  with  his  own  behavior.  He  had  been 
even  more  intemperate  than  the  man  he  looked 
upon  as  little  better  than  an  idolater.  He  had 
had  an  opportunity  to  be  Christlike,  and  he  had 
been  anything  but  Christlike,  and  in  his  heart 
there  was  the  same  bitter  though  unvoiced 
confession,  "My  fault!  My  fault!  My  most 
grievous  fault !" 

But  the  feeling  of  penitence  wears  away  more 


272  Tasmers  Summer. 

quickly  than  the  feeling  of  anger.  He  began  to 
think  that  Sir  Rolfe  must  have  had  some  inten 
tion  of  injuring  him,  and  that  his  extravagant 
contrition  arose  from  a  sudden  realization  of  the 
sin  and  its  consequences.  From  this  point  it  was 
easy  to  regain  his  satisfaction  with  himself,  and 
his  dislike  for,  and  his  displeasure  at,  Sir  Rolfe 
Torquil.  Then  the  next  step  was  to  express  it. 
One  day  Roberta  went  out  early  in  the  after 
noon  and  did  not  return  for  some  hours.  He 
had  seen  her  leave  in  the  boat  and  had  watched 
her  tacking  about  the  bay  for  some  time.  Sud 
denly  the  boat  had  disappeared  round  a  rocky 
point,  and  he  had  been  tormented  with  the  idea 
that  Donald's  boat  was  also  at  anchor  in  the 
smooth  water  behind  its  shelter.  He  accused 
Roberta,  and  defamed  the  Torquils  with  an 
intemperate  anger,  and  as  it  happened  the  idea 
was  entirely  false.  She  had  merely  found  a 
favorable  wind  going,  and  an  unfavorable  one 
returning,  and  she  was  able  indignantly  and 
positively  to  deny  the  accusation. 


Tasmers   Summer.  273 

But  the  idea  suggested  was  one  more  easy  to 
carry  out  than  any  the  lovers  had  hitherto  hit 
upon,  and  Balfour  having  once  wrongfully 
blamed  his  child,  was  ever  afterward  sensitively 
afraid  of  doing  her  a  similar  injustice.  So 
Roberta,  who  had  been  always  fond  of  the  sea, 
almost  lived  upon  it  during  the  ensuing  summer. 
Frequently  she  was  accompanied  by  her  father, 
more  frequently  she  went  alone,  or  took  with  her 
one  of  Rosa  Mackenzie's  boys.  She  developed 
a  taste  for  shells  and  sea-weeds,  and  came  home 
after  every  excursion  with  some  sea  treasure. 
And  Balfour  was  glad  to  encourage  any  new 
interest  in  her  life.  He  sent  to  Edinburgh  for 
books  and  glasses,  and  encouraged  her  by  a 
sympathy  born  entirely  of  his  desire  to  atone  for 
the  loss  of  her  lover. 

His  visit  to  Sir  Rolfe  had  really  done  no 
good.  That  nobleman,  though  he  made  a  special 
religious  exercise  of  forgiving  the  epithets  that 
had  been  applied  to  him,  was  not  able  to  think 
kindly  of  the  minister.  He  had  been  put  by  him 


274  Tastners   Summer. 


in  a  mighty  temptation,  and  but  for  the  warning 
entrance  of  Fergus  would  probably  have  slain 
Balfour;  for  his  hand  was  on  the  poniard,  which 
his  long  residence  in  India  had  taught  him  to 
wear  concealed,  and  he  had  dropped  the  restrain 
ing  beads  from  his  fingers  and  was  feeling  for  its 
hilt.  The  face  of  Fergus  revealed  to  him  the 
danger  he  was  in ;  for  one  whole  year  of  his  life 
had  been  spent  in  the  shadow  and  horror  of  a 
probable  atonement  for  precisely  such  a  satis 
faction  of  passion.  Soon  after  entering  the  army 
he  had  quarreled  with  a  civilian  about  a  trivial 
matter,  and  with  his  dirk  avenged  the  fancied 
insult  so  fiercely  that  his  victim  lay  for  months 
between  life  and  death,  and  he,  within  the  limits 
of  his  parole,  waited  in  fear  the  recovery  which 
would  give  him  freedom,  or  the  death  for  which 
he  would  have  to  atone. 

The  lesson  had  been  a  terrible  one,  and  yet  he 
had  permitted  himself  to  be  driven  to  the  very 
verge  of  learning  it  again — all  his  vows  for  the 
moment  forgotten — all  the  restraints  ol  years 


Tasmcrs  Summer.  275 

burst  asunder  for  a  little  angry  breath.  Fergus 
understood  that  passionate  imploration  at  the 
Christ's  feet;  although  it  always  remained  a 
mystery  to  Balfour — one  which  he  could  only 
explain  to  himself  by  a  half-contemptuous  allu 
sion  to  the  emotional  tendencies  of  the  Catholic 
creed. 

But  though  this  emotion  did  not  sway  the 
angry  man  an  hour  after  Balfour's  departure,  it 
left  some  traces  behind  whose  influence  was 
much  more  permanent.  Sir  Rolfe,  though  he 
thought  it  a  religious  duty  to  forgive  the  scorn 
ful,  contemptuous  words  which  had  so  irritated 
him,  did  not  forgive  the  man  who  spoke  them. 
In  his  heart  he  separated  the  sin  and  the  sinner, 
and  he  found  it  easier  to  pardon  the  sin  than  to 
tolerate  the  sinner.  He  was  conscious  of  a 
desire  to  annoy  him,  and  if  he  could  do  so  by 
simply  not  interfering  with  Donald,  he  found  it 
a  method  which  it  was  easy  to  excuse  to  his  own 
conscience.  So  the  minister  had  really  done 
harm  to  his  own  cause  by  the  visit ;  for  Sir  Rolfe 


276  Tasmers  Summer. 

had  quite  recovered  himself  before  Donald's 
.return,  and  was  able  to  treat  the  subject  with 
one  of  those  polite  innuendoes  about  women 
which  some  men  consider  complimentary  to 
themselves. 

But,  in  spite  of  much  said  to  the  contrary, 
there  really  are  pure-hearted  young  men ;  men 
who  reverence  good  womanhood,  and  who  know 
nothing  of  sinful  women,  and  hardly  believe  in 
their  existence.  Donald  was  such  a  youth.  The 
dim  memories  of  his  mother,  his  intimate  knowl 
edge  of  his  sister  Sara,  his  adoration  of  Roberta, 
constituted  the  basis  upon  which  his  opinion  of 
womanhood  was  based.  He  repelled  with  an 
instinctive  anger  anything  which  lowered  this 
estimate.  He  had  known  no  bad  women,  and 
he  simply  did  not  believe  in  them.  When  Sir 
Roife  smilingly  tolerated  "some  love  affair  he 
had  heard  of  toward  Ellerloch,"  as  one  of  those 
passing  liaisons  which  are  supposed  somehow  to 
be  conducive  to  the  ripening  of  a  young  man's 
character,  Donald  indignantly  refused  to  have 


Tasmers   Summer.  277 

any  derogatory  word  used  in  reference  to  the 
object  of  his  affection. 

"  I  hope  I  am  a  gentleman,  father,"  he  ans 
wered,  with  a  flushing  face.  "  I  should  scorn  to 
love  a  woman  whom  I  did  not  think  worthy  to 
be  my  wife.  As  to  Miss  Balfour — " 

"  Spare  me,  I  entreat  you,  Donald,  all  explana 
tions.  I  wish  to  know  nothing  of  the  young 
lady.  If  she  '  adds  a  passing  glory  to  your 
youth,'  I  am  obliged  to  her." 

"  But,  sir—" 

"  No,  indeed  !  I  will  not  discuss  a  boy's  first 
love  affair.  You  will  have  forgotten  it  yourself 
a  year  hence.  A  much  more  important  circum 
stance  is  your  sister's  marriage.  Sara  has 
behaved  splendidly.  She  has  fulfilled  my  high 
est  hopes.  She  is  a  good,  sensible  gM,  and  I 
have  no  doubt  will  be  happy  and  honorable  as 
long  as  she  lives.  In  the  main,  sooner  or  later, 
the  Torquils  do  very  well  to  themselves,  which 
is,  I  hope,  no  sin." 

"  I  think  Sara  loves  Maclane.     I  am  sure  he  is 


278  Tasmer's   Summer. 

a  very  lovable  man.  I  do  not  think  Sara  is  mar 
rying  in  order  to  do  well  to  herself." 

"  You  know  nothing^  of  women,  Donald.  To 
get  on  in  the  world — that  is  the  one  thing  need 
ful  to  them.  But  let  this  subject  pass.  I  was 
going  to  say  that  I  shall  have  all  arrangements 
made  for  you  to  join  the  Seaforth  Highlanders 
in  the  autumn.  So  make  the  most  of  your  holi 
day  now.  Take  all  the  joy  of  your  youth,  Don 
ald.  There  is  only  one  May  in  life.  But  take 
care  not  to  make  promises  or  court  acquaintances 
which  will  embarrass  your  future  life.  Now  I 
must  dismiss  you,  for  I  have  many  letters  to 
write,  and  I  expect  Sara  and  Maclane  within  a 
week." 

Thus  he  tided  over  and  put  off  any  serious 
explanation  on  Donald's  part.  He  really  wanted 
to  know  nothing  as  to  the  progress  of  his  love 
affair,  for  he  thought  he  could  very  safely  trust  to 
the  watchfulness  and  animosity  of  such  a  man  as 
Balfour  preventing  the  irrevocable  step  of  mar 
riage.  And  when  Sara  returned,  he  had  so  many 


Tasmer  s    Summer.  279 

more  vivid  interests.  She  Avas  in  herself  so 
charming  in  her  new  character.  The  indepen 
dence  she  felt  in  her  assured  position  gave  to  her 
intercourse  with  her  father  a  delightful  repose 
and  familiarity.  They  talked  confidentially 
together  of  what  was  to  be  done  for  Donald's 
progress,  and  of  what  was  to  be  done  for  the 
future  good  of  Tasmer. 

Maclane's  sympathy  in  respect  to  the  clearance 
of  Easter-Torquil  also  gave  Sir  Rolfe  great  com 
fort.  He  regained  his  self-satisfaction.  He  felt 
even  an  admiration  for  the  kind  manner  in  which 
his  clearance  had  been  effected.  There  had  been 
no  necessity  for  soldiers  or  even  constables  on 
his  estate  ;  and  then  by  some  curious  mental  pro 
cess,  he  very  soon  associated  the  good  ship  and 
the  many  comforts  of  the  exiles  with  his  own 
forbearance,  until  he  felt  as  if  all  was  the  special 
work  of  his  hand  and  heart. 

Upon  the  whole,  it  was  a  delightful  summer 
at  Tasmer.  There  was  the  pleasant  stir  of  wed 
ding  preparations  throughout  it ;  the  charming 


280  Tasmer's  Summer. 

litter  in  the  family  rooms  of  constantly  arriving 
boxes  filled  with  splendid  clothing  and  other 
accessories  to  the  bridal.  Maclane  was  coming 
and  going,  and  his  advent  was  always  a  new 
pleasure.  The  boat  built  for  him  by  Rory 
and  Angus  Mackenzie  proved  a  great  success. 
It  was  named  the  Sara  Torquil,  and  Sara, 
dressed  in  beautiful  garments,  broke  the  wine  on 
her  bow,  and  chanted  the  launch  song.  The 
little  craft  went  off  splendidly ;  there  was  a 
happy  picnicky  lunch  on  board,  and  Maclane 
drank  his  bespoken  cup  of  happiness  from  a 
brimming  cup — which  is  a  great  thing  for  any 
mortal  to  do. 

Afterward,  Donald  and  he  had  many  a  glori 
ous  race  down  the  sound,  or  up  the  Minch, 
when  the  squalls  over  Torridon  were  like  to 
blow  the  sails  to  bits,  and  the  wind  would  fly 
right  up  to  the  north  and  fetch  the  sea  down 
till  the  waves  thundered  over  the  bows.  And 
as  Rory  sailed  with  Maclane,  and  Angus  with 


Tasmer's  Summer.  281 

Donald,  the  emulation  was  doubled  in  each 
boat. 

"  For  my  faather  iss  the  obstinate  man  vvhat- 
effer,  Maistir  Tonalt,"  Angus  would  say,  with  a 
laugh.  "  It  will  pe  wild  work  lifting  the  poats 
to  wintwardth  out  of  the  floodt  tide,  but  my 
faather,  he  will  pe  sailing  the  mast  out  of  the 
Sara  Torquil,  pefore  he  will  pe  gifing  in  whet- 
effer.  Praise  God." 

Sometimes  Father  Matthew  went  on  one  boat 
or  the  other;  more  frequently  with  Maclane, 
for  he  was  interested  in  him  from  a  religious 
point  of  view.  And,  though  on  a  sea  holiday, 
the  priest  had  the  glad  vivacity  of  boyhood,  and 
could  sing  a  boat-song  or  reef  a  sail,  or  handle 
an  oar  with  any  man.  He  knew  well  also  how 
to  take  advantage  of  those  still  nights  when  they 
drifted  peacefully  over  moonlit  seas.  Then  soul 
spoke  to  soul  of  the  solemn  things  pertaining 
to  its  destiny,  and  they  reasoned  together  until 
Maclane  was  almost  persuaded  of  the  truths  the 
father  so  earnestly  pleaded.  But  his  desire  to 


282  ,  Tasmers  'Summer. 

prove  spiritual  things  by  earthly  methods,  to 
arrive  at  conviction  by  logical  sequences, 
hindered  him  much. 

"You  must  make  a  venture,"  said  the  father; 
"  faith  is  a  venture  before  a  man  is  a  Christian. 
It  is  a  grace  after  it." 

"  If  I  could  be  made  certain." 

"  Ah,  my  son,  certainty  is  the  reward  of  those 
who  by  an  act  of  will  embrace  the  truth !" 

"  O,  for  some  knowledge  of  the  Divine 
Being !" 

"  It  has  been  the  longing  of  all  ages.  '  O  that 
I  knew  where  I  might  find  Him !'  cried  Job. 
'  Show  us  the  Father  and  it  sufficeth  us,'  was  the 
supplication  of  the  disciples.  It  is  the  ceaseless, 
passionate  longing  of  all  heaven-born  souls ;  but 
though  there  is  no  open  vision  in  these  days,  His 
presence  is  ever  near  to  the  believer." 

Maclane  looked  with  a  pious  admiration  at 
this  fervent  Christian.  His  calm  manner  and 
sweet  voice  told  of  a  habitual  communion  with 
God,  and  his  eyes  were  full  of  what  Bossuet 


Tasmers  Summer.  283 

calls  "  an  incomparable  joy" — a  joy  which  none 
can  taste  but  those  who  taste  it  unmixed  and 
alone.  And  such  conversations  were  not  with 
out  their  influence ;  the  priest  felt  that  Maclane 
could  not  linger  long  outside  the  gate ;  Christ 
Himself  would  speak  the  "  compelle  intrare." 

In  August  Sara  and  Maclane  were  married. 
The  castle  was  full  of  company.  Over  the  gray 
old  walls  the  flag  of  the  Torquils,  with  its  fiery 
torch  and  crossed  claymores,  blew  north  and 
south,  as  it  had  not  blown  for  many  a  genera 
tion.  Inside,  there  was  a  light  laughter  of  merry 
girls  and  happy  matrons,  and  all  the  delightful 
confusion  which  follows  a  crowd  of  idle,  pleas 
ure-seeking  men,  whose  talk  is  of  sporting  and 
boating  and  beautiful  women.  Most  of  the  com 
pany  had  brought  with  them  their  own  maids 
and  valets  ;  there  was,  therefore,  a  second  and  by 
no  means  an  unimportant  party  below  the  main 
one.  Elegant  valets,  with  suave  manners  and 
Alight-footed  as  cats,  and  spruce,  jaunty  ladies'- 
maids  were  continually  passing  up  and  down  the 


284  Tasmers  Summer. 

stairs  and  along  the  corridors,  leaving  behind 
them  an  echo  of  carefully  modulated  badinage 
and  a  flutter  of  many-colored  ribbons. 

In  the  midst  of  all  Sir  Rolfe  and  his  hand 
some  son  and  daughter  made  a  very  distinct 
impression.  They  were  of  the  gay  world,  and 
yet  in  a  great  measure  not  of  it.  Sara  and  Don 
ald  were  so  fresh  and  unstained  by  it,  and  the 
old  colonel  brought  into  its  light  atmosphere 
just  so  much  of  the  military  atmosphere  as  added 
a  grave  yet  gracious  dignity  to  the  most  frivo 
lous  amusements. 

To  the  marriage  ceremony  every  Highland 
gentleman  and  lady  in  the  Kintail  district  had 
been  bidden  ;  and  the  old  church  of  the  crusader 
was  crowded  with  life  and  beauty.  But  among 
all  the  women  there  Sara  Torquil  was  the  love 
liest.  The  red-brown  of  her  hair,  the  deep  blue 
of  her  eyes,  her  fine  color,  her  tall  figure  clothed 
in  glistening  satin,  gave  her  a  starry  look,  which 
may  be  felt  or  might  be  painted,  but  which 
eludes  words.  "  Such  a  handsome  couple !" 


Tasmers   Summer.  285 

"  Such  a  suitable  match  !"  "  Such  a  fortunate 
woman  !"  "  Such  a  happy  man  !"  These  and 
many  other  similar  exclamations  summed  up  the 
success  of  Sara  Torquil  and  Andrew  Maclane's 
marriage-day. 

They  left  Tasmer  for  Sarum  Court  imme 
diately,  but  most  of  the  guests  remained 
for  longer  or  shorter  periods.  Indeed,  it  was 
nearly  a  month  ere  the  last  party  reluctantly  left 
the  coverts  and  the  tempting  hills,  for  the 
heather  was  in  its  finest  purple  and  the  birds  in 
splendid  feather.  As  for  Donald,  he  had 
thoroughly  enjoyed  the  festival  time.  A  man 
may  be  in  love,  but  he  is  not  made  insensible  to 
fine  company  and  life  that  is  rapid  and  vivid  by 
that  condition.  And  yet  he  was  glad  when  it 
was  over.  Military  service  meant  a  home  and 
Roberta,  and  from  these  two  central  thoughts 
he  had  planned  out  an  existence  full  of  the 
sweetest  and  purest  possibilities.  Only  ideals, 
perhaps,  but  it  is  upon  ideals  the  noblest 
hunger  of  the  soul  is  satisfied. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

IN   THE   TROUGH  OF   THE   SEA. 

"  His  hands  are  clasped  and  raised, 

In  the  conflict  dread  ; 
His  passionate  gaze  is  on  the  cross 

Above  his  head  ; 
And  scarce  more  worn  and  sad 

That  awful  face, 
That  leans  in  the  heaviness  of  death 

From  its  high  place, 
Than  the  wasted  face  upturned  to  plead 

For  strength  and  grace." 

Near  the  end  of  September,  Donald  Torqxril 
was  gazetted  to  a  company  in  the  Seaforth 
Highlanders. 

44  When  I  received  my  commission,"  said  Sir 
Rolfe,  "  I  said  the  votive  mass  for  it,  with  the 


In  the    Trough  of  the  Sea.          287 

Tasmer  beads  in  my  hands,  Donald.  Arrange 
with  Father  Matthew  the  time,  and  make  your 
thanksgiving  and  vows  over  them." 

"  I  am  glad  to  be  reminded  of  such  a  good 
custom." 

"  How  many  prayers  have  they  reckoned ! 
How  many  sacred  promises  have  they 
recorded.  They  have  been  wet  with  the  tears 
of  the  penitent  and  the  sorrowful ;  they  have 
been  hallowed  with  the  last  kisses  of  the  dying. 
The  vows  made  upon  them  cannot  be  broken 
without  sin.  Be  careful,  then,  of  the  words  you 
say,  Donald." 

It  was  to  Father  Matthew  that  Donald  went 
with  the  joyful  news  first. 

"  I  am  Captain  Torquil  now,  Father,  and  feel 
my  heart  glow  with  military  enthusiasm.  The 
Torquils  may  like  this  or  that  for  a  little  while, 
but  they  are  all  born  soldiers." 

"  Man  is  a  military  animal,  Donald,  and  he 
loves  fighting  and  parade." 

"  But  it  is  not  wrong,  Father?" 


288          In  the   Trough  of  the  Sea. 

"This  is  a  militant  state,  Donald.  Have  you 
never  thought  of  Holy  Church  as  a  mailed 
warrior  ?  The  light  of  her  drawn  sword  has 
illumined  the  world.  I  am  glad  you  have 
remembered  to  make  an  offering  first  to  Heaven 
of  your  success  and  your  hopes.  If  God  wills, 
may  He  bless  you  !" 

"  I  am  very  happy ;  and  yet  Fergus  has  cast  a 
little  shadow  on  me,  though  he  did  not  mean  to 
do  so,  I  am  sure.  When  he  saw  me  first  this 
morning,  he  did  not  know  that  I  had  been 
gazetted,  yet  he  said  to  me :  '  I  have  had  a 
dream,  and  read  it  if  you  can ;  for  I  think  you 
will  never  be  a  soldier  at  all.'  It  was  in  the  gray 
dawn,  he  said,  and  he  saw  me  draw  my  sword, 
and  a  hand — a  woman's  hand,  white  and  thin  as 
a  shadow — touched  the  hilt,  and  the  sword  fell  to 
the  ground  ;  and  he  woke,  wet  with  the  sweat  of 
mortal  terror.  I  laughed  when  Fergus  told  me, 
but  the  dream  has  troubled  me." 

"  Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled,  Donald. 
Commit  your  way  unto  the  Lord ;  then,  what- 


In  the   Trough  of  the  Sea.          289 

ever  happens,  it  will  be  right.  Listen  to  what 
our  own  saint,  the  angelic  Columba  has  to  say. 
This  very  morning  I  was  reading  the  song  he 
wrote,  as  he  journeyed  from  Tara.  It  has  the 
piety  of  a  psalm  of  David,  and  the  grand,  musi 
cal  march  of  a  chorus  of  Sophocles: 

" '  Alone  on  the  mountains,  I  need  the  help  of  God  only. 

"  '  This  shall  shield  me  better  than  a  guard  of  six  thousand 
warriors,  for  not  even  these  could  avail  me  aught  if  the  hour 
appointed  for  my  death  had  come. 

" '  The  reprobate  perish  even  within  the  sanctuary ;  the 
elect  of  God  is  preserved  even  in  the  fore-front  of  the  battle. 

"  '  Let  God  order  my  life  as  it  please  Him.  Nothing  can 
be  taken  from  it  or  added  to  it. 

"  '  Each  man  must  fulfill  his  own  lot.  The  thing  which  he 
sees  vanishes  from  his  grasp ;  the  thing  which  he  sees  not 
comes  upon  him. 

" '  It  is  not  a  sign  nor  an  omen  which  can  fix  the  period  of 
life.  Our  trust  is  in  One  who  is  mightier. 

"  '  I  care  not  for  the  voices  of  birds  or  the  casting  of  lots. 
My  Druid  is  Christ  the  Son  of  God.  My  kingdom  is  that  of 
the  King  of  Kings  ;  and  I  dwell  with  my  brethren  at  Kells  and 
at  Moone.'  " 

"  It  is  a  joyful,  trustful  song,  Father." 


290          In  the    Trough  of  the  Sea. 

"  I  have  always  loved  Saint  Columba.  I  can 
see  him,  tall  and  strong  and  beautiful,  lifting  the 
cross  among  the  barbaric  Picts ;  I  can  see  him 
standing  by  the  side  of  King  Brude  on  the  walls 
of  Craig  Phadric,  confounding  the  Druids,  as 
Moses  confounded  the  Egyptian  magicians.  I 
can  see  him  preaching  in  lona,  and  sitting  among 
councilors  at  Drumceath,  and  I  can  see  him 
dying  in  the  ecstasy  of  a  vision  of  angels.  Do 
you  remember,  Donald,  that  this  is  the  Feast  of 
St.  Michael  ?  Let  us  implore  the  protection  and 
favor  of  the  angelic  warrior  for  you." 

Yet,  though  Donald  went  from  Father  Con- 
tach  full  of  the  purest  and  highest  enthusiasm, 
there  was  in  his  heart  a  faint  sough  of  some  com 
ing  doom — he  knew  not  what.  Even  the  saint's 
triumphant  song  had  left  an  echo  of  the  uncertain 
and  the  unforeseen : 

"  The  thing  which  he  sees  vanishes  from  his 
grasp  ;  the  thing  which  he  sees  not  comes  upon 
him." 

He  wished  he  had  not  heard  the  words  ;  they 


In  the    Trough  of  the  Sea.          291 

had  fastened  themselves  in  his  heart  like  an 
arrow. 

He  went  next  to  see  Angus.  He  wanted  to  go 
to  Ellerloch  the  following  day,  and  he  wanted 
Angus  to  go  with  him.  There  was  then  some 
doubt  of  the  wind  and  weather,  but  the  next 
morning  was  a  specially  favorable  one  ;  there  was 
the  blue  above  and  the  blue  below  ;  a  good  south 
wind,  and  a  sunshine  that  went  to  the  very  heart 
of  man  and  nature. 

Sir  Rolfe  saw  his  son  leaving,  but  he  was  not 
inclined  to  do  anything  which  would  interfere 
with  his  pleasure.  Fergus  spoke  to  him  as  he 
was  half-way  through  the  court,  and  Donald 
turned  with  a  light  laugh  and  answered  his  ques 
tion.  Never  before  had  his  great  personal 
beauty  struck  his  father  so  forcibly.  He  looked 
as  happy  as  a  bridegroom,  as  handsome  as  a 
young  Greek  god,  when  he  lifted  his  smiling 
face  to  the  window  at  which  he  saw  Sir  Rolfe 
standing,  and  then  bared  his  head  in  the  sunlight 
as  a  good-bye  to  him. 


292          In  the   Trough  of  the  Sea, 

Ellerloch  was  reached  without  any  adventure 
or  misadventure,  and  Donald  waited  the  coming 
of  his  love.  He  left  Angus  with  the  boat  and 
climbed  the  rocks  to  watch  for  her  leaving  har 
bor.  Her  father  was  with  her  that  afternoon,  and 
also  a  little  lad  from  the  village,  but  he  saw  her 
land  and  gather  some  sea-grass,  and  he  knew  she 
had  seen  the  token  of  his  presence — an  oar  from 
the  Sea  Bird  standing  in  the  crevice  of  the  cliffs — 
for  when  he  was  not  waiting  for  her  the  oar  also 
was  absent. 

There  was  then  a  certainty  that  he  would  have 
to  wait  until  the  following  morning,  perhaps 
afternoon ;  and  Angus  and  he  made  themselves  as 
comfortable  as  possible.  They  could  do  a  little 
fishing  or  gunning,  and  they  had  plenty  to  talk 
about,  for  Donald  had  promised  to  take  Angus 
to  the  army  with  him,  and  the  young  fisher  was 
full  of  anticipations  and  eager  for  information, 

The  next  day  broke  in  unusual  beauty. 

"  A  pit  too  pright,"  said  Angus,  doubtfully,  at 
skies  that  were  innocent  of  shadows  or  clouds. 


In  the   Trough  of  the  Sea.          293 

In  the  middle  of  the  forenoon  Donald  saw 
Roberta's  boat  tacking  for  the  well-known 
covert. 

"  My  father  has  gone  to  a  farm  six  miles  away," 
she  said,  happily,  "  and  we  can  have  a  long  day 
together,  Donald ;"  and  she  then  made  Angus 
lift  from  her  boat  a  basket  containing  delicacies 
of  various  kinds  for  their  dinner. 

Never  was  there  a  meal  spread  and  eaten  in 
such  a  joyful  mood.  It  was  laid  upon  the  sea 
shore,  and  the  table  was  a  large,  flat  rock,  and 
their  seats  the  dry,  warm  sands  covered  with 
plaids ;  and  Angus  boiled  the  kettle  and  waited 
upon  the  lovers  with  kindly  service,  too  delicate 
to  hinder  confidence,  and  yet  sufficient  for  every 
need. 

After  the  meal  was  over  he  climbed  the  cliffs 
and  watched  the  horizon.  It  might  be  the 
minister  would  get  home  before  Roberta  and 
come  out  to  meet  her,  or  the  weather  might 
turn  unfavorable,  for  sudden  change  was  the 
rule  on  the  Minch ;  and  though  Roberta  had 


294          In  thg   Trough  of  the  Sea. 

but  a  short  sail,  if  change  was  coming  it  would 
be  well  to  warn  her  in  time. 

So  quickly  went  the  happy  hours  away  !  At 
last,  at  last  there  was  daybreak  in  their  east. 
Donald  had  got  his  commission.  He  was  going 
to  Edinburg  in  three  days.  If  Mr.  Balfour 
accepted  the  call  given  him  he  would  leave  in  a 
month.  They  looked  upon  this  call  as  a  really 
providential  arrangement  on  their  behalf,  and 
Roberta  was  certain  that  he  would  be  accepted, 
unless  her  father  heard  of  Donald's  appointment, 
which  was  very  unlikely.  So  the  foolish  couple, 
in  the  selfishness  of  their  satisfaction,  not  only 
forgot  every  other  love  and  every  other  duty, 
but  with  a  forwardness  of  personality  that  was 
sinful  in  all  its  elements  supposed  things  of  essen 
tially  more  importance  to  be  subservient  to 
their  desires. 

But  they  were  unconscious  of  any  incon 
sistency.  It  seemed  right  enough  to  their  long 
ing  hearts  that  the  plans  of  every  other  mortal 
should  serve  their  plans;  that  two  fathers  should 


In  the    Trough  of  the  Sea.          295 

be  wronged  and  slighted  that  they  might  have 
satisfaction;  that  two  homes  should  be  filled 
with  sorrow  that  they  might  build  their  home 
upon  the  ruins.  They  were  the  world  to  each 
other,  and  they  had  no  consciousness  of  obliga 
tions  outside  their  own  small  orbit. 

So  that  afternoon,  the  sun  shone  for  them 
only,  and  the  sea  murmured  softly  with  little 
treble  sounds  against  the  boats  and  among  the 
pebbles  for  them.  They  congratulated  them 
selves  on  the  necessity  which  had  taken  Mr. 
Balfour  from  home  so  opportunely  ;  they  made 
pleasant  reflections  upon  the  deacons  of  that  St. 
Andrew's  Free  Kirk  whose  call  was  likely  to  be 
so  propitious  to  their  plans.  And  in  all  this 
there  was  nothing  of  malice,  nothing  of  active 
unkindness  to  others.  It  was  the  sin  of  thought 
lessness  ;  the  sin  which  we  are  so  apt  to  count 
venial,  but  which  is,  nevertheless,  the  great  sin 
of  social  life — the  unconsidered  rock  which 
wrecks  far  more  happiness  than  any  storm  of 
open  enmity,  or  open  wrong. 


296         In  the    Trough  of  the  Sea. 

14  The  minutes  go  too  quickly  !  The  minutes 
go  too  quickly,  Roberta !"  sighed  Donald. 
"  But  oh  !  when  all  of  them  will  be  our  own  !" 

And  as  they  paced  the  brown-ribbed  sands, 
hand  in  hand  together,  Roberta  leaned  her  hand 
some  head  against  his  shoulder,  and  Donald 
thought  himself,  among  all  the  sons  of  men  that 
day,  the  very  happiest. 

Suddenly  Angus  called  to  them  from  the 
rocks,  and  with  eager  motions  he  directed  them 
to  the  boats.  There  was  no  craft  in  sight ;  there 
was  no  apparent  change  in  the  wind.  But 
Angus  had  the  prescience  of  a  west-coast  fisher, 
or  a  sea-bird.  He  saw  the  storm  afar  off.  He 
urged  the  lovers  to  make  haste  in  their  prepara 
tions.  He  was  almost  cross  at  the  laughter  and 
delay  with  which  Roberta  arranged  her  basket 
and  made  her  adieu. 

"  With  this  wind  I  shall  be  home  in  twenty 
minutes,"  she  said,  as  Donald  lifted  her  into  the 
light  sail-boat  with  whispered  love  words,  and 
one  long  good-bye  kiss. 


In  the   Trough  of  the  Sea.          297 

"  We  hadt  petter  pe  following  her,"  said  Angus ; 
"  there  hass  peen  time  lost,  there  hass  peen  too 
much  time  lost — you  will  see  that,  sir,  ferry  soon  ; 
yes,  inteet!" 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Angus?" 

Angus  was  busy  lifting  the  anchor  of  the  Sea 
Bird. 

"  You  will  pe  seeing  what  1  mean,  sir  ;  there  is 
a  squall  to  the  north,  it  will  be  here  ferry  soon — 
perhaps  it  may  make  away  to  the  Skye  shore — 
put  Miss  Palfour's  poat  iss  a  small  poat,  and  it 
will  pe  like  a  feather  in  the  plast  if  it  will  pe 
coming  this  way — and  it  iss  coming — and  it  iss 
coming,  sir  !  Look !  Look  to  the  north  way  !" 

"  Up  with  the  sails,  Angus  !  We  must  keep  in 
Miss  Balfour's  wake.  Hurry  !  We  may  be  too 
late !" 

Even  while  he  was  speaking  the  wind  was 
veering  and  changing,  and  in  a  few  minutes  it 
was  coming  down  with  a  roar  that  drowned 
speech ;  then  the  sky  grew  black,  and  there  was 
a  woeful  moan  in  the  waters  beneath  it. 


298          In  the    Trough  of  the  Sea. 

Angus,  who  could  do  anything  that  mortal 
man  could  do  with  a  boat,  managed  to  keep 
Roberta  in  sight.  She  handled  her  little  craft 
with  wonderful  skill,  and  in  spite  of  the  fierce 
blast  was  managing  to  tack  for  the  harbor.  Sev 
eral  men  were  on  the  pier  watching  her.  There 
was  a  stir  among  them  as  if  they  were  going  to 
launch  a  boat  and  go  to  her  assistance.  Donald 
stood  at  the  bow  of  the  Sea  Bird  like  a  man  dis 
traught;  one  moment  crying  out  to  Roberta, 
the  next  urging  Angus  to  impossibilities. 

At  length  she  was  at  the  bend  of  the  bar.  If 
she  could  pass  it,  she  would  be  in  smooth  water. 
A  boat  manned  with  six  oars  was  flying  toward 
her;  Donald  could  see  the  minister's  form 
among  them.  It  was  life  or  death  for  Roberta 
to  weather  that  perilous  turn.  Angus  kept  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  her.  Donald  stood  with  parted 
lips  and  clasped  hands,  enduring  an  unspeakable 
anguish.  And  Roberta  tacked  for  the  turn  with 
a  desperate  skill ;  but  the  sea  suddenly  came 
down  like  great  Bens  rolling  over  each  other 


In  the   Trough  of  the  Sea.          299 

in  fury,  and  the  poor  girl  evidently  lost  con 
fidence  and  became  terrified.  She  abandoned 
the  helm,  and,  with  great  effort,  reached  the 
slender  mast,  to  which  she  clung.  Donald  was 
near  enough  to  distinguish  through  the  murk  of 
the  storm  her  white  face  turned  toward  him. 

He  called  to  her  with  passionate  strength,  but 
his  voice  was  carried  away  on  the  great  wind 
blowing  it  southward.  If  she  could  only  hold 
out  five  minutes  longer!  If  she  could  only  tack 
so  as  to  get  over  the  bar !  If  love  could  only 
work  a  miracle  for  her  salvation  !  Alas  !  Alas ! 
While  every  eye  was  turned  upon  her,  while 
every  heart  was  praying  for  her,  a  tremendous 
wave  went  over  the  boat,  as  if  there  was  no  boat 
there. 

A  cry  of  mortal  agony  blent  itself  with  the 
shrieking  wind.  It  came  from  the  miserable 
Donald.  He  was  standing  at  the  stern  of  the 
boat,  when  the  billows  went  over  Roberta.  The 
next  moment,  the  slender  mast,  with  the  poor 
girl  clinging  to  it,  was  tossed  into  the  trough  of 


3OO         In  the   Trough  of  the  Sea. 

the  waves.  The  swell  brought  her  close  to  him. 
Her  face,  white  as  death,  lay  against  the  black 
billows,  and  Donald  saw  no  other  thing  between 
heaven  and  earth.  With  a  loud  cry  of  "  Roberta  ! 
Roberta  /"  with  the  swift  plunge  and  unerring 
aim  of  a  sea-bird,  he  leaped  into  the  raging 
water. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

FAREWELL,    LOVE. 

"  Yes,  love,  indeed,  is  light  from,  heaven ; 

A  spark  of  that  immortal  fire 
With  angels  shared  ;  by  Allah  given, 
To  lift  from  earth  our  low  desire, 
Devotion  wafts  the  mind  above, 
But  heaven  itself  descends  in  love ; 
A  ray  of  Him  who  formed  the  whole, 
A  glory  circling  round  the  soul." 

"  Had  we  never  loved  so  kindly, 
Had  we  never  loved  so  blindly, 
Never  met,  or  never  parted, 
We  had  ne'er  been  broken-hearted." 

There  are  moments  in  the  life  of  most  men 
when  the  spirit  takes  possession  of  the  flesh  and 
defies  its  limitations ;  when  it  dares  the  ele 
ments,  and  subdues  them  ;  when  it  faces  death, 


302  Farewell,  Love. 

and  is  triumphant  over  it.  It  was  in  the  might 
of  such  a  moment  Donald  made  his  perilous 
leap  to  save  his  beloved,  or  to  die  with  her. 
He  had  calculated  with  more  than  mortal  pre 
science  the  exact  moment  and  the  exact  space. 
As  he  struck  the  water,  his  hand  grasped  the 
floating  spar. 

But  Roberta  was  almost  beyond  consciousness. 
To  his  passionate  outcry  of  love  and  hope,  there 
was  but  the  faintest  flicker  of  intelligence.  He 
fancied  a  quiver  in  the  closed  eyelids  ;  that  was 
all.  Her  hold  upon  the  mast  was  the  mechani 
cal  hold  of  a  death-grasp.  She  knew  nothing; 
but  Donald's  mind  had  a  supernatural  clearness. 
He  understood  in  a  moment  that  no  mortal 
might  make  his  way  on  those  mountain-tops  and 
in  those  valleys  of  watery  death,  and  he  looked 
consciously  toward  the  rocky  beach,  where  the 
set  of  the  tide  must  carry  them.  To  abandon 
themselves  to  this  '  set '  was  their  only  hope. 
Some  wave  mightier  than  all  others  might  lift 


Farewell,  Love.  303 

them  above  the  rocks,  which  kept  the  perilous 
path  to  the  land. 

These  thoughts  were  vivid  and  rapid  as  a 
flash  of  lightning.  With  one  arm  he  grasped 
Roberta ;  with  the  other,  the  sustaining  spar. 
He  turned  her  dear  white  face  to  his  own  breast. 
It  was  likely  that  their  bodies  would  be  cut  and 
bruised  upon  the  jagged  rocks  ;  but,  if  possible, 
he  would  save  from  ruin  the  loveliness  of  his 
Roberta's  countenance.  His  own  breast  should 
be  its  shield. 

For  a  moment  or  two,  they  oscillated  on  the 
mighty  under-swell  between  waves ;  then  a 
motion,  tremendous  as  the  upheaval  of  a  world, 
made  Donald  aware  that  the  fatal  wave  was  com- 
ing.  He  clasped  Roberta  closer,  and  with  the 
great  name  of  *'  God"  upon  his  lips,  surrendered 
himself  and  the  being  dearer  than  himself  to  the 
mountainous  rush  of  water — to  the  blinding  spray 
— -to  the  cruel  rocks. 

He  knew  no  more. 

His   movements,   however,   had    been   appre- 


304  Farewell,  Love. 

bended  by  the  crowd  of  watching  fishermen,  and 
at  their  utmost  speed,  a  party  made  for  the  exact 
point  where  the  bodies  were  likely  to  be  cast. 
Their  intimate  knowledge  of  the  power  and  the 
set  of  the  tidal  currents  directed  them  with  a 
marvelous  accuracy.  Five  minutes  after  the  sea 
had  cast  them  upon  the  rocky  coast,  Roberta's 
father  lifted  her  tenderly  in  his  arms. 

"  There  is  still  life  here !"  he  cried.  "  There 
is  still  life  here !"  And,  with  a  wonderful 
rapidity,  the  fishers  made  a  litter  of  the  minis 
ter's  plaid,  and  carried  the  girl  to  her  home. 

Yet  even  in  moments  so  precious,  with  the 
sense  of  wrong  burning  in  his  heart,  David  Bal- 
four  did  not  forget  to  care  for  his  enemy.  He 
had  seen  Donald's  leap  into  the  storm  ;  he  knew 
that  if  Roberta  was  saved,  she  owed  her  life  to 
Donald's  love  and  courage  ;  and  bitterly  as  he 
reproached  the  young  man  in  his  mind,  he  could 
not  but  admire  his  devotion,  and  pity  his  young 
life  lost.  For  Donald  lay  among  the  rocks, 
bleeding  from  many  a*  wound,  and  the  arm  which 


Farewell,  Love.  305 

had  encompassed  Roberta  had  been  broken  ere 
it  surrendered  its  treasure.  His  eyes  were  wide 
open,  but  quite  unconscious.  He  was  dead  in 
every  sense  ;  he  was  stunned  in  every  limb. 

The  minister  turned  from  the  piteous  sight 
with  full  eyes,  and  ere  he  hastened  home  with 
his  own  child,  said  : 

"  Peter  Mackenzie,  I  leave  young  Torquil 
with  you.  Do  your  duty  for  him  to  the  last 
moment,  and  if  I — " 

"  There  iss  no  neet  to  be  telling  me  to  do  my 
duty  to  the  Torquil,  Minister.  It  iss  to  my  own 
cottage  I  will  pe  takin'  him.  Yes,  inteet,  thank 
God." 

Fortunately  for  Donald,  both  Peter  and  his 
wife  were  skilled  in  every  means  by  which  the 
drowned  are  brought  back  to  life  ;  and  in  an 
hour's  time  Donald's  soul  had  been  reluctantly 
called  back  to  the  ciay  tenement  where  sore 
suffering  awaited  it.  For,  though  the  heart 
resumed  its  regular  action  and  the  lungs  again 
breathed  the  breath  of  life,  Donald  remained 


306  Farewell,  Love. 

unconscious,  and  it  was  evident  that  he  had  suf 
fered  some  very  severe  internal  injury. 

"  It  iss  a  fight  in  the  teeth  of  death  he  will  pe 
hafing,"  said  Rosa,  as  she  watched  the  young 
man  tossing  and  moaning  through  the  dreadful 
night. 

Early  in  the  morning  Angus  opened  the  door 
of  the  cabin.  He  had  managed  to  bring  the 
Sea  Bird  into  harbor  with  the  tide,  and  had 
easily  learned  where  to  look  for  his  young 
master. 

"  He  iss  ferry  ill,  Rosa,  and  why  then  were 
you  not  going  for  the  minister  ?  The  minister 
iss  as  goot,  yes,  and  petter,  than  any  doctor  at 
aal." 

"You  will  pe  talking  ferry  foolish  things 
Angus  Torquil.  The  minister  iss  a  goot  man 
but  he  iss  shust  a  man,  and  that  iss  aal.  It 
wouldt  pe  takin'  God  Almighty  himself,  to  pe 
helping  the  man  who  hat  drowndt  your  only 
childt.  Yes,  intcet !" 


Farewell,  Love.  307 

"  Go  for  the  minister,  Rosa.  It  will  pe  hiss 
duty.  It  will  pe  pehafing  like  a  Christian." 

"  There  iss  times  when  a  man  will  not  want  to 
pehafe  like  a  Christian.  I  will  not  pe  asking  the 
minister  to  pe  safing  the  life  of  his  enemy." 

"  Ferry  well,  then,  it  iss  pack  to  Torquil  we 
will  pe  going ;  and  you  will  pe  going  with  us, 
mirover,  for  you  are  a  Torquil  and  ploot-kin  to 
Maister  Tonalt,  and  hiss  life  will  pe  in  your 
hands,  Rosa." 

To  this  proposition,  Rosa  willingly  agreed, 
and  without  any  delay  the  Sea  Bird  sailed  south 
ward.  A  sad  voyage  it  was,  although  the  wind 
was  fair  and  the  skies  bright.  For  Donald  lay 
bound  in  that  land  of  awful  shadows,  which  we 
call  delirium,  and  the  tragedy  of  Roberta's 
struggle  for  life  was  ever  before  him.  He  went 
over  and  over  it.  Night  and  day  he  was  watch 
ing  the  girl's  hard,  brave  fight  with  boisterous 
winds  and  mountainous  waves,  her  pitiful 
abandonment  of  hope,  her  sudden  disappearance, 
when  all  the  waves  and  billows  went  over  her. 


308  Farewell,  Love. 

Terribie  hours  were  spent  in  that  little  cabin  on 
the  lonely  ocean ;  and  both  Angus  and  Rosa 
were  worn  out  when  the  Sea  Bird  cast  her  anchor 
in  Torquil  Bay,  at  the  gray  dawn  of  the  second 
morning. 

At  the  same  moment  the  Master  of  Tasmer 
was  kneeling  in  the  oratory,  with  the  old  ivory 
beads  in  his  hand.  It  was  his  custom,  at  the  first 
brightening  of  the  night  shadows,  to  follow  the 
advice  of  the  wisest  of  men  :  "  To  prevent  the 
sun,  to  give  God  thanks,  and  at  the  dayspring 
pray  unto  Him."*  He  had  risen  with  a  cheer 
ful  alacrity  for  the  purpose,  for  his  devotion  was 
a  delight  to  him.  It  was  no  lip  service ;  he 
really  loved  and  adored  the  great  Being  before 
whom  he  prostrated  himself ;  asking  with  a 
cheerful  and  devout  confidence  : 

"  Give  me  grace,  O  Lord,  to  do  what  Thou 
commandest,  and  command  what  Thou  pleasest. 

"  Give  me  grace  to  suffer  what  Thou  per- 
mittest,  and  permit  what  Thou  pleasest." 

*  Wisdom  of  Solomon.  XVI. :  28. 


Farewell,  Love.  309 

Then  full  of  peace  he  went  into  his  own  room, 
and  stood  some  minutes  looking  out  over  the  sea. 
Suddenly  he  was  aware  of  the  feet  of  men  in 
regular  steps,  and  his  heart  grew  apprehensive 
and  heavy  as  lead.  He  opened  the  casement 
with  trembling  hands,  and  leaned  forward  to  see 
the  sorrow  that  was  coming. 

Four  strong  fishers  were  carrying  a  mattress 
on  which  his  son  lay  bound.  His  face  was  like 
clay,  his  eyes  closed,  he  uttered  heart-rending 
cries  of  hopeless  agony.  Sir  Rolfe  went  down 
to  meet  him.  Silently  he  led  the  way  to 
Donald's  room  ;  and  so  they  carried  the  young 
lord  to  the  chamber  he  had  left  a  few  days 
before,  in  all  the  beauty  and  radiant  expectancy 
of  love  and  hope. 

Every  dwelling  is  subject  to  the  visits  of  some 
terrible  guests — guests  that  lift  the  latch  and 
enter  in,  and  ask  no  man's  leave  to  do  so.  In 
Tasmer's  old  rooms,  pain  and  death  sat  waiting. 
The  sorrow  of  the  day  was  answered  by  the 
sorrow  of  the  night;  and  human  nature  and 


3 io  Farewell,  Love. 


earthly  love  would  alike  have  failed,  had  not  the 
Christ,  clothed  in  eternal  patience,  been  also 
there,  waiting  the  hour  of  need.  For  it  was 
spring  again  before  Donald  Torquil  escaped 
from  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death. 

The  news  of  their  brother's  danger  reached 
Sara  and  Maclane  in  Rome,  and  they  immediately 
returned  to  Tasmer,  where  they  found  Sir  Rolfe 
and  Father  Contach  almost  exhausted  with  their 
vigil,  and  their  efforts  to  alleviate  the  sufferings 
of  the  sick  man.  But  Sara  brought  with  her  two 
Sisters  of  Charity,  and  the  advent  of  these  gen 
tle  ministering  souls  introduced  some  comfort 
and  order  into  the  worn-out  household.  But 
withal  they  were  sorrowful  weeks,  full  of  days 
in  which  love  watched  breathlessly  the  struggle 
for  life,  in  which  the  Angel  of  Death  was  sensi 
tively  present,  and  the  beating  of  his  wings 
almost  heard  by  the  living. 

Donald  scarcely  wished  to  live  ;  for  he  believed 
Roberta  dead.  No  one  spoke  her  name,  and  he 
was  himself  unable  to  form  the  question  his  soul 


Farewell,  Love.  317 

constantly  longed  to  ask.  But  though  she  had 
vanished  from  this  planet,  she  must  be  some 
where  in  the  universe  of  God.  His  soul  followed 
hard  after  her.  He  tugged  at  his  mortal  bands, 
as  a  prisoner  at  the  cords  that  bind  him.  "  Let 
me  go  to  her !  Wherever  she  may  be,  merciful 
God,  let  me  go  to  her !"  was  the  voiceless  but 
constant  imploration  of  his  heart. 

One  night  he  awoke  from  a  long,  long,  troubled 
sleep.  He  was  out  of  pain.  He  was  clearly  con 
scious,  he  was  full  of  rest,  though  too  weak  to  lift 
a  finger.  His  room  seemed  strange  to  him.  The 
tables  were  crowded  with  all  the  paraphernalia 
of  severe  sickness,  and  his  own  special  furniture 
had  been  pushed  aside  to  make  space  for  large 
chairs  and  lounges,  suitable  for  the  relief  of 
those  who  were  worn  out  with  watching. 

In  one  of  these  chairs  a  Sister  sat  musing  and 
praying.  Her  face  was  like  a  holy  book.  She 
was  so  still  and  calm,  that  the  slight  movement  of 
her  fingers  as  they  passed  along  the  rosary  was 
noticeable.  Donald  derived  a  strange  content  in 


312  Farewell,  Love. 

watching  her.  It  was  like  a  dream  of  heaven, 
after  his  long  anguish  of  delirium,  and  he  feared 
to  see  it  fade  away. 

In  a  little  while  she  rose  and  came  to  his  side. 

"You  were  praying  for  me  ?"  whispered  Don 
ald,  with  a  great  effort. 

"  I  was  praying  for  you  and  Roberta." 

Her  voice  was  sweet  and  low  ;  her  words  were 
like  the  words  of  an  angel  to  him.  He  cried  out, 
as  an  infant  might  cry,  weak  and  shrill ;  and  he 
looked  at  her  with  such  imploring  eyes  that  she 
understood  him  without  speech. 

"Roberta,  also,  has  been  very  ill ;  but  she  has 
recovered.  I  was  praying  for  her  soul." 

He  could  not  answer.  That  one  short,  shrill 
cry  had  exhausted  his  strength  ;  but  large  tears 
of  joy  gathered  in  his  hollow  eyes;  and  the  gen 
tle  Sister  dried  them,  and  with  holy,  hopeful 
words  soothed  him  to  sleep  again. 

During  his  illness  Sir  Rolfe  had  watched  his 
son  with  a  real  sympathy.  He  was  glad  that 
about  Roberta  they  had  no  hard  words  and  no 


Farewell,  Love.  313 

unkind  feelings.  From  Angus  he  had  heard  the 
whole  tragical  story,  and  his  soul  was  full  of  pity 
for  the  young  girl  who  had  so  nearly  lost  her 
life  for  love  of  his  son.  It  was  true  that  she  had 
been  in  the  way  of  disobedience,  and  therefore 
in  the  way  of  sin ;  that  she  had  deliberately 
chosen  her  own  pleasure,  though  she  had  to  tear 
it  secretly  through  forbidden  gates.  But  he 
remembered  her  youth,  and  he  understood  what 
a  temptation  a  bright,  handsome,  adoring  lover 
like  Donald  must  have  been.  Indeed,  there  were 
hours  when  Donald  lay  on  the  very  shoals  and 
sands  of  Time,  in  which  he  assured  himself  that 
he  would  have  been  reasonable  about  the  mar 
riage,  and  that  the  tragedy  was  mainly  due  to 
the  proud,  impracticable  bigotry  of  Minister 
Balfour. 

He  hoped,  indeed,  that  the  love  of  Donald  and 
Roberta  would  not  survive  the  suffering  it  had 
caused  them.  He  knew  how  often  men  found 
out,  through  burning  fever  and  bodily  pain  and 
weakness,  that  their  passion  was  but  the  over- 


314  Farewell,  Love. 


flow  of  youth's  impetuosity  and  emotion,  and  he 
quite  expected  that  his  son  would  be  cured  of  his 
sickness  and  his  love  at  the  same  time. 

Possibly  he  might  have  been  right,  had 
Donald's  love  for  Roberta  been  simply  the 
desire  of  a  young  man  for  physical  beauty.  But 
when  love  finds  the  soul  of  the  beloved,  then  it 
is  an  affection  antedating  this  life,  and  holding 
the  promise  of  eternity.  Truly  Donald  admired 
Roberta's  personal  loveliness ;  he  felt  the  great 
charm  of  her  fresh  vitality,  her  splendid  coloring 
and  ner  graceful  movements ;  but,  after  all,  it 
was  Roberta  s  soul  he  loved — the  soul  that  looked 
through  her  loving  eyes  into  his  soul— -the  soul 
that  drew  like  a  magnet  all  the  sweetness  of  his 
own  soul — the  soul  that  gave  to  her  simplest 
words  hidden  meanings — sweet,  vague  memories 
— that  stirred  in  him  feelings  for  which  he  had 
no  name  ;  illimitable  stretching  backward  and 
forward,  recalling,  promising,  binding  him  with 
a  thousand  airy  bonds,  sweeter  than  life,  stronger 
than  death,  not  to  be  broken  and  not  to  be  for 


Farewell,  Love.  315 

gotten.  While  Roberta  lived  Donald  knew  that 
he  must  love  her.  Though  she  went  to  the 
uttermost  parts  of  the  earth,  he  must  follow  her. 

One  day  at  the  close  of  March,  Donald  came 
up  from  the  village  with  a  letter  in  his  hand  and 
the  strength  of  some  sure  purpose  in  his  face. 
He  met  the  baron  in  the  fir-wood,  and  he  ans 
wered  the  questioning  glance  at  the  letter  with 
out  hesitation. 

"  It  regards  my  company,  father.  The  fur 
lough  granted  on  account  of  sickness  is  nearly 
expired.  I  must  resign  or  join  my  regiment. 
It  is  ordered  to  Canada." 

"  Decide  your  own  fate,  Donald.  We  have 
grown  very  close  to  each  other  during  this  sad 
winter,  and  I  shall  be  sorry  to  lose  your  com 
panionship,  I  have  ceased  to  expect  your 
co-operation  in  the  improvements  I  am  making 
on  Tasmer.  I  know  that  your  disapproval  of 
them  is  beyond  reasoning  with." 

"  Have  1  said  anything  to  offend  you,  father  ?" 

"You  have  given  me  no  intentional  offense." 


316  Farewell,  Love. 

Then  Donald  remembered  that  Sara  had  told 
him  how  passionately  in  his  delirious  ravings  he 
had  lamented  the  dispersion  of  their  sept. 
"  Our  father  often  turned  white  to  his  very 
lips."  "  He  was  unable  to  bear  your  supplica 
tions  and  your  reproaches."  "  He  felt  that  you 
had  thought  in  your  sanest  hours  all  that  you 
muttered  and  cried  in  your  unconscious  state." 
So  much  Sara  had  said,  and  Donald  understood 
that  the  baron  had  resigned  all  hope  of  his 
sympathy.  He  glanced  at  the  pale,  thoughtful 
man  by  his  side,  and  a  sentiment  of  regret  filled 
his  heart.  He  wished  that  he  could  have  taken 
his  father's  hand  and  said  :  "In  all  things  per- 
taining  to  Tasmer  we  will  stand  shoulder  to 
shoulder,  sir."  But  Donald's  opinion  of  the 
"  clearance"  was  still  the  same.  He  regarded  it 
as  a  movement  at  once  unjust  and  unkind,  and 
of  very  doubtful  advantage  to  the  barony  of 
Tasmer. 

"  I    think    1    had     better    join    my    company, 
father.     And  it  is  my  duty  to  tell  you  that  Miss 


Farewell,  Love.  317 

Balfour  has  a  right  to  be  consulted.  1  thought 
of  going  to  Ellerloch  to-morrow.  Angus  will 
manage  the  boat." 

Sir  Rolfe  stood  still  and  looked  reproachfully 
at  his  son. 

"  You  intend  really  to  take  again  a  road  that 
has  nearly  cost  you  your  life?  Does  your  infat 
uation  for  that  girl  still  rule  you  ?" 

"  It  is  not  an  infatuation,  sir.  It  is  love,  holy 
and  strong.  She  promised  to  marry  me  when  I 
got  my  commission.  I  trust  that  she  will  still 
be  ready  to  keep  her  promise." 

Then  Sir  Rolfe,  with  a  haughty  movement  of 
dismissal  to  his  son,  walked  forward  without 
another  word;  and  Donald  was  sensible  of  a 
sudden  moral  shock  and  a  quick  physical  faint- 
ness.  He  leaned  against  one  of  the  great  fir- 
trees  and  lifted  his  bonnet  and  let  the  fresh 
March  wind  blow  across  his  hot  brow.  He  was 
still  so  weak  that  the  sensation  of  anger  which 
first  assailed  him  made  him  tremble.  He  had 
proved  by  such  long  and  severe  suffering  his 


318  Fareivell,  Love. 

love  for  Rooerta  Balfour  that  he  felt  that  he 
had,  at  least,  a  right  to  have  that  love  recog 
nized.  A  sense  of  injustice  made  him  resent  his 
father's  prejudice ;  a  sense  of  honor  made  him 
impatient  of  any  longer  delay  as  regarded 
Roberta.  Angus  thought  it  possible  to  take  the 
boat  to  Ellerloch,  and  he  believed  himself  able 
to  take  the  journey. 

During  the  weeks  of  his  convalescence  there 
had  been  such  a  pleasant  confidence  between 
himself  and  Sir  Rolfe,  that  he  felt  keenly  his 
father's  relapse  into  sympathetic  silence. 
Before  leaving  him  for  the  night  he  made  an 
effort  to  break  it. 

"  Dear  father,"  he    said,  "  I  must  go  to  Eller 
loch  to-morrow  ;    do    not  let  me  go  with  your 
anger.     I  made  a  promise  to  Miss  Balfour  last 
September  ;    do  you  think  that  my  sickness  and 
the  lapse  of  time  have  absolved  me  from  it  ?" 
"  What  promise  did  you  make  her  ?" 
"  I  promised  to  make  her  my  wife." 
"  Then  do  so.     As  a  gentleman,  you  can  do  no 


Farewell,  Love.  319 

less.  The  wrong  was  in  the  promise.  If  it 
affected  only  yourself,  I  should  say  break  it, 
though  you  broke  your  heart,  also ;  but  a 
promise  made  to  a  woman  who  loves  you  is 
inviolable.  Go  to  Ellerloch  and  marry  the  girl, 
if  you  wish,  and  make  much  of  her  love  ;  it  will 
be  all  that  is  left  you." 

"  My  dear  father — 

"  If  I  be  dear,  where  is  your  obedience  ?" 

He  rose  with  the  question,  and  passed  into 
the  oratory ;  and  Donald,  trembling  with 
physical  weakness  and  mental  trouble,  fell  upon 
the  nearest  couch  and  shut  in  the  heavy  tears 
behind  his  closed  eyelids,  and  his  clasped  hands 
above  them. 

In  the  morning,  with  the  early  tide,  he  started 
for  Ellerloch.  Angus  came  up  to  the  castle  for 
him  ;  and  leaning  upon  his  strong  arm,  Donald 
walked  through  the  firs  and  out  of  their  dewy 
stillness  into  the  keen  salt  breeze  of  the  gray 
Minch  water-way.  The  dawn  was  just  edging 
the  gneiss  with  pinkish,  pallid  hues,  and  on  the 


320  Farewell,  Love. 

desolate  ancient  hills  the  delicate  green  of  thin 
grass  dyed  the  tint  of  the  rock.  A  heavy  rain 
in  the  night  had  deadened  the  breeze,  and,  as  it 
often  does  in  the  Minch,  had  swung  it  away 
round  to  the  southeast. 

Donald  looked  lovingly  at  the  sky  and  the 
sea,  and  the  white  streaks  of  foam  and  the  spent 
swell  breaking  among  the  boulders.  He  bent 
over  the  boat's  nose,  to  see  how  she  was  rising 
and  falling  in  the  water,  and  felt  quite  satisfied 
with  her  trend  forward.  The  peace,  xhe  lulling, 
cradling  motion,  the  fresh,  life-laden  wind, 
soothed  him  inexpressibly.  He  lay  down  in  his 
sea-blankets  at  the  stern,  and  idly  watching  the 
forlorn  headlands  and  the  vapory  edges  of  the 
fells,  he  let  the  swing  of  the  boat  lull  him  into 
the  soundest,  sweetest,  deepest,  longest  sleep  he 
had  ever  known. 

Angus  had  the  patience  and  wisdom  of  love. 
He  pushed  forward  the  Sea  Bird  and  let  Donald 
sleep.  Hour  after  hour  passed,  and  the  young 
man  never  moved.  It  was  near  sunset  when  he 


Farewell,  Love.  321 

lifted  his  head  and  looked  at  the  old  treeless 
coast,  and  the  black  hills  lining  it.  The  boat 
was  luffiing  under  them,  to  keep  the  failing 
breeze ;  and  the  very  sadness  of  their  ragged 
edges,  draped  in  mist,  touched  and  comforted 
him.  It  was  the  same  somber  look  which 
charmed  the  early  saints,  and  girded  these 
solitary  headlands  with  their  cells.  He  looked 
at  them  with  something  of  awe  in  his  face,  for 
the  Sea  Bird  was  rippling  their  very  shadows. 

The  next  day,  with  a  fair  wind,  they  reached 
Ellerloch  in  the  afternoon,  and  Donald  went  at 
once  to  David  Balfour's  house.  The  little  maid 
servant  let  him  enter  with  a  frightened  look. 
She  said  the  minister  was  in  the  parlor,  and  as 
she  spoke,  softly  opened  the  door. 

Balfour  was  alone.  He  was  sitting  by  the  fire 
lost  in  thought.  His  right  hand  lay  upon  his 
knee,  his  left  upon  an  open  book  at  his  side. 
When  Donald  spoke,  he  rose  to  his  feet,  his 
stern  face  softened  and  flushed,  he  went  forward 


322  Farewell,  Love. 

a  step  or  two,  and  offered  his  hand  to  the  young 
man. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  once  more,  Torquil,  in 
the  land  of  the  living." 

"  Sir,  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  I  wish  first  of  all 
to  say,  forgive  me." 

"  When  I  forgave  Roberta,  I  forgave  you  also. 
Shall  I  be  less  merciful  than  He  who  said  :  '  Go 
in  peace,  and  sin  no  more.' " 

"  Sir,  we  truly  sinned  against  your  father-love 
and  authority  ;  but  wherein  else  have  we  done 
wrong?  Can  it  be  sin  to  love  as  1  love 
Roberta?  Oh,  no,  sir!  Give  me  Roberta  for 
my  wife.  In  the  face  of  God  and  man,  give  her 
to  me  ;  and  then — " 

"  Has  Baron  Torquil  given  you  permission  to 
ask  for  my  daughter  ?" 

"  Alas,  no,  sir !  but—" 

"  Neither  do  I." 

"Roberta  loves  me.  Do  not  force  us  to  a 
clandestine  marriage.  I  wish  to  deal  honorably 
with  you,  sir." 


farewell,  Love.  323 

"  I  do  not  fear  Roberta.  Her  lesson  has  been 
a  sufficient  one.  Sir,  I  will  deal  honorably  and 
kindly  with  you,  and  for  this  end,  I  will  speak 
plainly.  I  will  not  give  you  Roberta.  I  will 
never  sanction  a  marriage  between  you.  I  think 
Roberta  is  so  much  my  daughter  as  to  refuse  a 
marriage  which  God  himself  interfered  to 
prevent.  He  separated  you  with  His  wind  and 
His  waves.  You  had  planned  for  yourselves  a 
dwelling  in  the  Land  of  Love.  He  took  you 
both  to  the  Land  of  the  Shadow  of  Death.  If 
you  did  not  learn  there  how  dreadful  a  thing  a 
disobedient  and  unequally  yoked  marriage  is, 
Roberta  learned  the  lesson.  She  comes.  Let 
her  speak  both  for  herself  and  for  you." 

As  he  ceased,  Roberta  opened  the  door.  She 
entered  with  a  swift  movement,  holding  her 
level  palms  and  raised  face  toward  Donald.  He 
stretched  out  his  arms,  trembling — almost  sob 
bing  with  emotion — and  she  fled  to  them,  as  a 
brooding  bird  to  its  nest.  Balfour  glanced  at 
their  meeting  faces ;  both  so  beautiful,  both  so 


324  Farewell,  Love, 

full  of  love  and  sorrow ;  and  instead  of  separat 
ing  the  lovers,  he  left  them  alone.  He  pitied 
their  suffering;  he  had  no  wish  to  be  a  witness 
to  it. 

He  went  into  his  study,  and  walked  restlessly 
about.  He  could  hear  the  murmur  of  their 
voices — Donald's  passionate  pleading^  Roberta's 
sad,  dissenting  tones,  and  low,  distressful  weep- 
ing.  He  would  not  interfere.  Whatever  was 
their  decision,  they  must  reach  it  alone.  Cer 
tainly,  he  suffered  with  them.  In  spite  of  the 
trouble  Donald  had  caused  him,  he  liked  the 
young  man  ;  and  though  he  called  this  liking  "  a 
weakness,"  and  reproved  himself  for  indulging  in 
it,  it  enabled  him  to  understand  his  daughter's 
great  love  for  Donald  Torquil,  and  to  pity  her 
for  it. 

He  had  told  himself  that  he  would  give  the 
lovers  half  an  hour  in  which  to  comfort  each 
other  for  their  hard  fate.  When  it  was  over,  he 
went  back  to  them.  His  glance  fell  first  upon 
Donald.  Never  had  the  youth  looked  so  bril- 


Farewell,  Love.  325 

liantly  beautiful.  His  long  sickness  had  given 
to  his  fine,  fair  face  a  singular  delicacy,  and  the 
tide  of  life  beneath  shone  through  it,  as  a  light 
through  a  Parian  vase.  He  leaned  against  a  tall 
black  cabinet ;  he  was  trembling  with  eagerness 
and  feeling ;  his  hands  were  holding  Roberta's 
hands ;  his  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her ;  he  was 
pleading  as  men  plead  for  the  one  true  love  that 
is  granted  them  in  this  life. 

And  if  ever  a  woman  is  beautiful,  it  is  in  the 
presence  of  such  an  adorer.  Balfour  now  under 
stood  his  daughter's  marvelous  charm.  In  that 
momentary  glance  he  saw  it  all — the  superbly 
tall,  slender  figure,  in  its  straight,  long  robe  of 
dark  tartan ;  the  exquisitely  formed  and  tinted 
face ;  the  large,  dark,  soulful  eyes,  drawing  like 
a  spiritual  magnet  the  soul  they  looked  into ;  the 
shadowing  cloud  of  black  hair,  falling  in  innu 
merable  waves  and  tendrils  about  her  temples, 
throat  and  shoulders.  It  was  an  instantaneous 
picture  of  human  loveliness,  never  to  be  forgot 
ten. 


326  Farewell,  Love. 

He  came  toward  them,  and  Donald  turned 
pleadingly  to  him. 

"Speak  for  me,  sir!"  he  cried.  "Alas!  I 
have  no  advocate  but  you.  By  the  love  of  our 
dear,  common  God,  have  pity  upon  me!" 

'\Torquil,  I  have  most  pity  on  you  when  I  say, 
what  I  see  Roberta  has  already  said  :  '  There 
can  be  no  question  of  love  between  Donald  Tor- 
quil  and  Roberta  Balfour.'  " 

"  Father,  I  said  not  that.  There  is  love,  undy 
ing  love,  between  Donald  and  myself.  I  said 
only  that  there  could  be  no  question  of  marriage 
between  us." 

"But  the  reason,  sir?  The  reason?  Is  not 
true  love  the  foundation  of  marriage  ?  Is  there 
any  other  foundation  but  love  ?  I  love  Roberta, 
and  she  loves  me." 

"  There  is  the  difference  in  your  faith." 

"  What  have  creeds  to  do  with  love?  Love  is 
above  them.  Whenever  did  love  ask  of  any  man 
or  woman :  '  What  church  do  you  worship  in  ?'  " 

"  True.     It  is  faith  that  must  ask  what  church 


Farewell,  Love.  327 

love  worships  in.  There  is  also  the  difference  of 
race." 

"  My  love  touches  not  such  a  small  question.. 
Race  is  for  the  body.  I  love  Roberta  with  my 
soul.  Our  souls  have  one  parentage — the 
Father  of  Spirits." 

"  Donald  !  Donald  Torquil!  Reason  not  with 
me.  Conscience  is  above  reason.  Conscience  is 
not  to  be  moved  either  by  pity  or  reason  or  favor. 
My  conscience  forbids  this  marriage.  My  God 
himself  punished  you  both  for  its  intention. 
Will  He  always  remember  mercy  in  His  judg 
ments  ?  We  have  no  right  to  expect  it.  Do  not 
dare  again  to  provoke  Him  to  anger." 

"  Think  you  that  God  Almighty  ordered  the 
storm  specially  for  our  reproof  ?" 

"  Yea  ;  I  am  sure  of  it." 

"  I  think  kinder  and  nobler  things  of  my  God. 
I  read  in  my  Bible  that  '  Love  and  the  way  of 
good  works  are  from  Him.'*  True  love  is  of 
the  nature  of  God,  pure  and  eternal." 

*Eccle.  II.:  15. 


328  Farewell,  Love. 

"  Roberta,  my  child,  say  farewell  to  Donald 
Torquil.  I  forbid  you  to  speak  longer  with  him. 
Even  now  I  have  let  a  foolish  tenderness  pro 
long  an  inevitable  parting." 

"  I  will  never  resign  Roberta.  She  is  my  own 
beloved  wife.  She  was  born  for  me.  No  man 
can  rob  me  of  her  and  be  innocent.  My  Roberta ! 
You  will  never  forget  me  ?" 

"Never!  Never!  Never,  Donald!  Never 
in  life  or  eternity !" 

"  I  am  going  to  Canada.  I  know  not  for  how 
long.  Be  sure,  however,  that  sooner  or  later,  I 
will  come  to  claim  you." 

He  drew  her  to  his  breast  and  kissed  her  pale 
face  and  wet  eyes — kissed  her  with  the  heart 
breaking,  holy  tenderness  with  which  we  kiss 
the  dead  ;  and  resigning  her  to  her  father's  con 
solation,  left  her  so,  without  a  word  of  farewell 
to  him.  But  Balfour  took  no  offense  at  the 
omission.  He  set  his  lips  firmly,  as  he  held 
Roberta  in  his  arms,  and  watched  Donald  going 
with  swinging,  rapid  steps  to  the  Sea  Bird. 


Farewell,  Love.  329 

Suddenly  Roberta  disengaged  herself  from 
her  father's  embrace.  She  left  the  room  and 
hastily  fled  up-stairs.  In  a  few  minutes  she  left 
the  house.  Balfour  did  not  attempt  to  stay  her. 
He  divined  her  motive  and  understood  that  it 
would  give  an  active  finality  to  the  parting. 

She  followed  Donald's  footsteps  very  quickly  ; 
but  the  young  man  was  in  that  frenzy  of  feeling 
which  demands  rapidity  of  action.  When  she 
reached  the  little  pier,  Angus  was  getting  the 
canvas  aloft,  and  the  boat  was  going  like  a  race 
horse  before  the  wind.  Donald  stood  at  the 
bow,  with  his  face  southward.  A  cry  from 
Roberta  made  him  quickly  turn.  He  saw  her 
on  the  very  verge  of  the  slip.  Her  arm  was 
extended  and  in  her  hand  there  was  a  flutter  of 
lawn,  like  the  beating  of  a  bird's  white  wing. 
Her  face,  in  the  grayness  of  all  around  her, 
showed  •white  as  light.  For  the  rain  beat  upon 
her  blowing  garments,  and  the  wind  blew  back 
her  hood  and  scattered  her  dark  hair.  She 
heeded  nothing  and  she  saw  nothing  but  the 


,33°  Farewell,  Love. 

swiftly  vanishing  boat  and  the  tall  figure  stand 
ing  bareheaded  watching  her. 

With  an  inexorable  rapidity  the  boat  drove  on 
till  she  passed  the  point  near  by  the  rocky  coast 
where  Roberta  had  once  faced  death  in  Donald's 
arms.  The  thought  made  the  girl  cry  out  in 
an  agony  of  remorseful  memory.  How  could 
she  give  him  up?  Her  heart  bitterly  reproached 
her,  as  she  went  slowly  homeward,  weeping 
under  her  close-drawn  hood  and  whispering  to 
the  wet,  wild  wind : 

"  Farewell,  love  !    Farewell,  love  /" 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

AT  THE  LAST — PEACE. 

"  Sweet  Mercy !  to  the  gates  of  Heaven, 
This  mortal  lead,  his  sins  forgiven ; 
The  rueful  conflict,  the  heart  riven, 

With  vain  endeavor ; 
And  memory  of  earth's  bitter  leaven, 

Effaced  forever." 

"  O  !  fading  honors  of  the  dead  J 
O  !  high  ambition  lowly  laid." 

Time  is  a  sword.  It  smites  everything  mortal 
• — youth,  beauty,  delights  of  all  kinds.  And 
when  a  man  has  passed  sixty  years  of  age,  how 
dark  is  the  angle  of  life  which  remains  to  him ! 
And  this,  not  because  he  has  few  joys,  but 
because  he  has  ceased  to  hope.  He  can  no* 


332  At  the  Last — Peace. 

longer  delude  himself  with  a  future  which  lies  in 
the  shadow  of  the  grave. 

Sir  Rolfe  stood  mournfully  one  day  at  the 
gates  of  Tasmer,  feeling  the  full  force  of  this 
truth.  He  had  not  realized  his  expectations, 
and  he  did  not  anticipate  their  more  perfect  ful 
fillment.  The  men  and  the  women  of  Torquil 
bens  and  Tasmer  braes  had  disappeared.  There 
were  no  barelegged  children  running  about  the 
straths,  and  no  picturesque  cottages  overgrown 
with  mosses  and  stone  wort  in  the  sheltered  cran 
nies;  and  there  were  thousands  of  sheep,  and 
many  perfectly  built  and  symmetrical  sheep, 
iolds,  but  the  change  had  brought  him  neither 

2the  wealth  nor  the  satisfaction  he  had  hoped. 
.Lady    Moidart   had   judged   wisely   that  the 

•clearance  policy  at  Tasmer  would  be  weakened 
by  counteracting  principles.  Besides  which,  Sir 
Rolfe's  health — undermined  by  long  residence  in 
India — was  unable  to  endure  the  cold  of  the 
mountains.  In  a  large  measure  he  had  to  leave 

•everything  to  the  supervision  of  shepherds  and 


At  the  Last — Peace.  333 

gamekeepers,  who  had  no  salutary  fear  of  his 
personal  inspection. 

And  now  there  had  come  a  sudden  and 
critical  change  in  his  personal  condition.  He 
knew  that  morning,  as  he  stood  watching  the 
gray  old  sea,  that  his  days  were  numbered,  and 
gravely  solemn  thoughts  passed  through  the  old 
knight's  mind.  He  looked  over  the  Minch 
dimpling  in  the  sunshine,  and  a  swift  and  irresis 
tible  desire  to  feel  the  swell  and  motion  of  the 
ocean  came  to  him. 

There  had  been  for  some  years  a  growing 
hatred  between  the  Torquii  and  the  Melvich 
fishermen,  and  in  the  last  season  it  had 
assumed  a  dangerous  character.  Melvich  had 
just  sold  his  estate ;  what  if  he  sailed  as  far  as 
Melvich  loch  and  saw  the  new  proprietor? 
It  would  be  wiser  and  kinder  than  to  leave 
to  Donald  the  inheritance  of  an  unsettled 
quarrel. 

As  these  thoughts  passed  through  his  mind, 
Angus  approached,  and  his  unusual  presence 


334  At  the  Last— Peace. 

decided  the  baron.  He  bade  the  young  fisher 
get  the  Sea  Bird  ready  and  go  up  the  coast 
with  him.  Angus  feared  the  Sea  Bird  was 
"  too  long  at  anchor  to  be  safe  at  aal ;"  and 
Sir  Rolfe,  who  was  easily  made  positive  by  a 
little  opposition,  sent  him  for  his  own  fishing 
smack. 

.  As  they  sailed  northward  a  handsome  shoot 
ing  lodge,  perched  among  the  heather  of  Ben 
Sana,  attracted  Sir  Rolfe's  notice,  and  he  asked 
Angus,  with  a  faint  curiosity,  if  the  new  owner 
of  Melvich  had  built  it  ? 

41  They  were  saying  it  wass  Lord  Lenox 
built  the  lodge,"  answered  Angus ;  "  and  they 
were  saying,  mirover,  that  it  iss  aal  the  Mel 
vich  landt  he  hass  peen  puying  ;  for  he  iss  a  rich 
man,  a  rael  rich  man,  and  mirover,  a  mean  man 
iss  he.  He  hass  the  goldt,  and  he  has  the  landt, 
put  there  iss  not  in  aal  Scotlandt  so  poor  a 
man  ass  he  iss !  For  he  will  not  pe  spending 
anything  at  aal,  and  the  rich  wife  he  wass 
marrit  on,  she  wass  soon  leafing  him,  and  there 


At  the  Last— Peace.  335 

were  many  padt  wordts  about  it.  Yes,  inteet ! 
Have  you  peen  hearing  of  the  trouble,  sir  ?" 

"  No  one  has  spoken  to  me  of  it,  Angus." 

"  They  were  saying — and  it  is  the  God's  truth, 
sir — they  were  saying  that  he  wass  a  rael  miser. 
He  cleared  hiss  place,  and  then  when  the  people 
were  aal  sent  away  he  began  to  safe  money,  and 
the  more  he  was  safing  then  the  more  he  wass 
wanting  to  safe.  So  it  was  house  after  house, 
acre  after  acre,  as  I  haf  peen  toldt.  'Tis  a  poor 
way  to  pe  spending  one's  life,  sir  !  'Tis  a  poor 
way,  whateffer." 

"  It  is,  indeed,  Angus.  Such  men  are  the 
devil's  scorn  and  mockery,  for  they  neither  get 
this  world  nor  yet  escape  the  second  death." 

"  I  am  a  ferry  poor  man  myself,  but  I  will  not 
pe  so  poor  a  man  as  Lord  Lenox  is.  No  inteet, 
thank  God  !" 

"  There  is  a  great  difference  between  you  and 
Lord  Lenox,  Angus.  You  are  poor,  and 
poverty  is  in  want  of  some  things.  He  is  avari 
cious,  and  avarice  is  in  want  of  everything." 


336  At  the  Last— Peace. 

This  conversation  turned  the  baron's  thoughts 
back  to  the  young  man  he  had  known  seven 
years  before.  The  events  of  that  time  looked 
far  past.  He  remembered  Lenox,  full  of  ambi 
tions,  to  which  gold  was  to  be  only  the  stepping- 
stone.  When  they  met  he  found  that  gold  had 
become  his  god  and  the  goal  of  all  his  aims. 
His  finer  qualities  had  evaporated  in  the  strug 
gle  for  it.  He  had  forgotten  all  his  enthusiasms 
and  dissipated  all  his  illusions.  The  sunrise  for 
Lenox  had  melted  into  the  light  of  common 
day ;  the  air  was  emptied  of  wonder ;  his  soul 
had  fallen  to  the  quality  of  the  thing  it 
worked  in. 

He  drove  a  hard  bargain  with  Torquil.  No 
memory  of  the  baron's  hospitality  or  of  the 
beautiful  Sara,  whom  he  had  once  loved  as  well 
as  he  could  love  any  woman,  softened  it.  Tor 
quil  left  Melvich  humbled  and  sad  and  full  of 
vague  regrets.  When  he  got  fairly  out  to 
sea  a  strang  desire  came  to  him.  He  wished  to 
go  to  Ellerloch,  and  he  bid  Angus  take  the  boat 


At  the  Last— Peace.  337 

there.  He  wondered,  indeed,  over  the  strange 
impulse;  but,  then,  a  man  has  very  little  knowl 
edge  of  himself  who  does  not  often  regard  his 
own  thoughts  and  actions  with  wonder  and 
curiosity. 

No  distinct  purpose  was  in  his  mind  ;  but  as 
they  voyaged  onward  in  the  calm  of  the  summer 
day,  in  the  starlight  and  the  moonlight,  listen 
ing  for  miles  and  miles  to  the  endless  crash  of 
the  Alantic  swell,  the  purpose  lormed  itself 
clearly  enough.  He  was  sure  of  it  when  the 
boat  ran  into  the  little  harbor  in  an  afternoon 
rain-storm.  Grim  and  lonely  looked  the  small 
stone  cabins,  with  their  slate  roofs  shining  in  the 
heavy  shower.  But  he  took  small  note  of  the 
village.  He  left  Angus  with  the  boat,  and 
walked  straight  to  the  minister's  house.  Bal- 
four  was  out,  and  it  was  Roberta  who  welcomed 
their  visitor.  The  tall,  soldierly  figure,  though 
wan  and  much  shrunken,  struck  her  with  admir 
ation.  When  he  spoke,  his  voice  had  tones  and 
inflections  which  stirred  her  heart  to  tears.  She 


338  At  the  Last— Peace. 

insisted  that  he  should  take  off  his  wet  cloak ; 
she  had  the  fire  replenished ;  she  made  him  a 
cup  of  most  refreshing  tea. 

Sir  Rolfe  watched  her  movements  with  the 
greatest  interest.  He  admired  her  beauty,  and 
wondered  a  little  over  its  uncommon  type.  For, 
if  Roberta,  at  nineteen  years  of  age,  had  been  a 
lovely  girl,  she  was,  at  twenty-three,  a  superbly 
perfect  woman.  A  great,  kind  soul  looked 
through  her  fathomless  eyes ;  her  ways  were 
exquisitely  womanly  ;  her  voice  low  and  sweet ; 
her  hands  white  and  beautifully  formed — hands 
made  to  help  and  caress. 

She  had  no  idea  of  his  identity  and  she  talked 
to  him  with  the  utmost  freedom.  He  admired 
her  intelligence  ;  perhaps  he  admired  still  more 
the  elegance  and  propriety  of  her  dress.  For 
Roberta  had  a  native  taste  which  always  fitted  ' 
itself  to  times  and  circumstances.  The  long, 
straying  tresses,  which  had  been  so  suitable  to 
her  girlhood,  were  now  picturesquely  braided 
and  coiled,  and  added  much  to  her  stature  and 


At  the  Last — Peace.  339 

dignity.  The  dark  tartan  of  her  dress  was  of 
more  ample  length  ;  her  collar  was  closed  with 
a  massive  brooch  of  gold ;  her  manner  was 
grave  and  gentle,  and  her  movements  very 
graceful.  She  seemed  to  the  baron  the  ideal  of 
an  exquisite  womanhood,  and  she  involuntarily 
stamped  the  purpose  which  had  brought  him  to 
Ellerloch  as  desirable  and  excellent. 

He  was  sipping  his  tea  and  talking  to  her 
when  the  minister  entered.  Balfour's  face 
flushed  at  the  sight,  but  his  finer  and  nobler 
instincts  instantly  ruled. 

"  You  are  most  welcome,  Baron,"  he  said,  and 
he  frankly  put  his  hand  into  the  one  offered  him. 
Perhaps  he  was  conscious  of  a  slight  reluctance, 
but  it  was  instantly  conquered.  And  in  a  few 
moments  the  two  men  sat  together  upon  tha 
same  hearth ;  the  minister  expectant,  cautious, 
desirous  of  good  will ;  the  baron  conciliating, 
anticipative  of  the  next  world,  careless  ot  the 
petty  animosities  of  this  one. 

The  minister  spoke  first. 


34°  At  the  Last — Peace. 

"  Torquil,  you  have  taken  a  long  journey  ?" 

"  I  am  about  to  take  a  much  longer  one,  sir — 
even  to  '  the  Land  very  far  off.'  I  desired  to 
speak  to  you  before  my  departure." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  and  Sir  Rolfe's 
thin,  wan  face  reddened  vividly,  as  he  con 
tinued  : 

"  I — I — I  wish  to  say — pardon  my  ill  words  to 
you  and  of  you.  This  confession  alone  can  give 
me  ease ;  it  is  the  only  adequate  penance.  A 
good  Christian  ought  not  to  have  spoken  as  I 
have  done  about  you  and  yours." 

"I  have  been  equally  guilty,  Baron.  I  ask 
your  pardon,  also." 

The  two  men  leaned  toward  each  other  ;  they 
clasped  hands,  and  the  minister  said  some  words, 
sacred,  secret,  confidential — no  more  to  be 
spoken  of  than  was  that  mysterious  acknowl 
edgment  and  pardon  that  must  have  taken 
place  when  the  repentant  Peter  met  the  risen 
Christ  by  the  Lake  of  Tiberius. 

In  a  short  time  Roberta  entered  with  refresh- 


At  the  Last— Peace.  341 

ments,  and  the  conversation  became  more  gen 
eral.  And  never  had  Sir  Rolfe  been  more  lov 
ing  and  charming.  He  told  them  incidents  of 
his  youth  in  India — tales  of  forlorn  and  desperate 
valor — stubborn  fights  with  adverse  circum 
stances  or  desperate  foes  ;  and  with  the  light  of 
victory  on  his  face,  kindled  the  cheeks  of  those 
who  listened  to  him.  Then  he  spoke  of  Tasmer, 
and  of  the  deeds  of  his  fierce  ancestors — the 
bare-armed  thanes  of  Ross,  who  had  piled  its 
massive  masonry,  and  watched  from  its  high 
walls  the  incursions  of  the  great  clans  by  which 
they  were  surrounded. 

Roberta  rose  as  he  finished  ;  she  opened  the 
piano,  and,  with  a  quick,  nervous  touch,  struck 
from  its  keys  the  pibroch  of  his  clan.  No  earthly 
music  could  have  so  deeply  moved  the  old 
knight.  He  murmured  the  gathering  song  to  it 
— a  few  words  too  fierce  for  any  melody — the 
invocation  of  arming  men  to  the  bloody  com 
panies  of  the  birds  of  prey. 

When  the  music  ceased,  both  player  and  singer 


342  At  the  Last — Peace. 

had  said  everything  to  each  other's  hearts  that 
could  be  said.  With  a  kindly,  kindling  glance, 
the  baron  clasped  Roberta's  hand  in  his  own,  and 
then  bowed  his  head  to  kiss  it.  Roberta,  with  a 
quick  divination  of  his  intention,  lifted  her  face 
and  kissed  him.  She  kissed  him  for  that  he  was 
Donald's  father.  She  kissed  him  for  his  own 
charming  lovableness.  For,  whatever  the  baron 
had  been  in  the  stress  and  struggle  of  life,  he 
was  now,  when  at  the  threshold  of  the  grave, 
wonderfully  childlike  and  Christlike. 

Roberta  then  left  the  two  men  alone.  She 
could  not  but  speculate  on  the  purport  of  the 
baron's  visit  to  Ellerloch,  and  she  could  not 
avoid  believing  that  it  was  a  kind  one  to  Donald 
and  herself.  Surely  her  father  would  be  tender 
and  reasonable  with  a  dying  man.  Balfour 
wished  to  be  so,  but,  even  while  Roberta  was 
speculating  about  his  attitude,  the  minister  was 
assuring  his  conscience  that  he  would  not  wrong- 
it  a  tittle  for  any  plea  of  mere  human  kindness. 

The  baron   sat  silent,  until  the  last  vibrations 


At  the  Last — Peace.  343 

of  the  stirring,  war-like  pibroch  had  died  out  of 
the  atmosphere,  then  his  first  remark  was  a 
reflection  upon  the  sympathy  between  music  and 
life. 

"  Balfour,"  he  said,  "  our  life  is  very  like  music 
in  one  respect ;  there  is  a  constant  wandering 
from  the  key-note  in  a  thousand  harmonies  and 
combinations  ;  but  the  player  always  returns  to 
the  key-note  at  last." 

"  And  the  key-note  of  a  good  life — is  God." 

"  Even  so,  Balfour.  Let  me  carry  out  the 
simile.  Quick  melodies,  without  great  devia 
tions  from  the  key-note,  are  like  our  pibrochs, 
joyous  or  stirring;  slow  melodies,  which  only 
reach  it  after  painful  dissonances  and  frequent 
changes,  are  sad.  Do  you  understand  ?" 

"  You  mean  that  lives  that  never  wander  far 
from  God  are  joyous  and  strong?  You  mean 
that  those  which  only  reach  Him  after  long 
deviations  into  paths  leading  nowhere,  and  paths 
leading  in  wrong  directions,  are  full  of  sadness 
and  of  many  fears  ?" 


344  At  the  Last — Peace. 

"  That  is  what  1  mean.  I  have  been  a  great 
wanderer,  but  I  have  reached  the  key-note 
again.  The  music  of  my  life  is  nearly  finished." 

Then,  with  a  sudden  access  of  interest,  he  lifted 
his  face  quickly,  and  asked  : 

"  What  are  we  to  do  about  our  children  ?" 

The  question  was  so  abrupt  that  Balfour  was 
startled  by  its  imperative  demand.  He  looked 
steadily  at  the  baron,  reflected  a  moment,  and 
answered : 

"  We  are  to  do  right,  Sir  Rolfe  ;  we  are  to  do 
right.  We  are  to  do  what  in  the  hour  and  arti 
cle  of  death  our  souls  will  approve." 

"Just  so,  Balfour.  I  was  once  bitterly 
opposed  to  Donald's  marriage  with  your 
daughter.  That  was  when  death  was  not  in  my 
thoughts.  Now  that  we  are  '  familiars/  1  think 
differently  ;  now  that  I  have  seen  Roberta  Baifour 
I  am  anxious  that  Donald  should  have  so  fair,  so 
good  a  woman  for  his  wife.  Do  not  deny  them 
your  sanction  any  longer.  Donald  may  be  home 
any  day.  Let  him  have  your  consent  to  visit 


At  the  Last — Peace.  345 

Roberta.  I  would  wish  to  welcome  her  to  Tas- 
mer  while  I  am  yet  its  master.  You  see  how 
short  and  frail  my  tenure  now  is."  And  he 
stretched  out  his  thin,  white  hands,  and  looked 
into  Balfour's  face  with  eyes  in  which  there  was 
already  the  far-off  look  of  a  soul  watching  for  its 
own  eternity. 

"  I  cannot  speak  in  a  hurry.  I  cannot  prom 
ise.  I  may  sin  away  my  child's  soul." 

"  Only  leave  Roberta  to  her  own  conscience  ; 
that  is  all  I  ask.  You  permit  no  one  to  dictate 
to  your  conscience  ;  give  your  daughter  the  same 
liberty.  We  are  at  the  close  of  life.  Shall  our 
prejudices  any  longer  darken  their  youth,  and 
make  bare  and  barren  their  days  ?  Balfour,  it  is 
a  great  injustice  to  them.  I  have  been  wrong 
and  cruel.  I  have  asked  of  God  this  favor  ;  to 
right  the  wrong  before  I  go  away  forever." 

"  You  trouble  me,  Torquil.  You  trouble  me 
greatly.  I  must  talk  with  my  conscience.  I 
must  talk  with  my  God.  I  wish  to  do  right — 
only  right." 


346  At  the  Last — Peace. 

"  I  believe  you.  Can  it  be  wrong  for  us  tx> 
give  our  children  the  same  liberty  of  conscience 
we  claim  as  an  inalienable  right  for  ourselves  ? 
They  are  of  full  age — they  are  responsible  to 
God.  Let  us  trust  them.  I  am  weary  now.  I 
have  said  what  I  came  to  say.  Let  me  sleep — 
under  your  roof." 

There  was  a  moral  grandeur  in  the  humility 
of  this  request.  Balfour  was  greatly  touched 
by  it.  He  gave  the  dying  man  his  arm  to  lean 
upon.  He  assisted  him  in  the  removal  of  his 
raiment ;  he  softly  repeated  the  Benediction  at 
his  bedside  ere  he  left  him.  Torquil  slept 
soundly  and  peacefully  as  a  child.  Balfour 
paced  his  study  floor  the  whole  night  long. 
The  baron  had  sheltered  himself  higher  than  all 
creeds,  even  in  the  infinite  love  of  his  Maker ; 
the  minister  had  the  restless  pain  of  one  who 
tries  to  confine  the  immortal  spirit  within  the 
lines  of  a  human  creed. 

With  the  morning  tide  the  baron  left  Eller- 
loch.  He  leaned  upon  Roberta's  arm  as  he 


At  the  Last — Peace.  347 

walked  to  the  pier,  and  he  treated  her  as  a 
daughter,  though  he  never  named  Donald.  At 
the  last,  the  two  men  parted  like  those  who  trust 
in  God  and  in  each  other. 

"  We  shall  meet  again,  Torquil,"  said  the 
minister. 

"  We  shall  meet  again — somewhere — some 
day — in  the  kingdom  of  God.  Farewell, 
Roberta." 

Then  as  the  boat  left  the  pier,  he  waved  his 
hand  over  the  sparkling  waters  and  said,  with  a 
smile : 

"  Is  not  this  '  great  sea  '  beautiful  ?  But  there 
is  to  be  no  sea  there.  Shall  we  not  miss  it,  I 
wonder?" 

He  was  too  far  away  to  hear  Balfour's  answer. 
The  north  wind  and  the  flowing  tide  were  driv 
ing  the  boat  before  them.  Balfour  watched  the 
tall  figure,  sitting  motionless,  with  troubled 
eyes.  He  turned  homeward  with  Roberta 
and  was  speechless.  It  was  not  until  they 


348  At  the  Last — Peace. 

reached  the  gate  of  the  manse  garden  that 
Roberta  said  : 

"  Baron  Torquil  is  a  true  nobleman.  But  is 
he  not  very  ill,  father  ?" 

"  He  is  dying,  but  I  think — I  hope — yes,  I 
truly  believe, 

" '  Into  that  dark,  he  takes  with  him  a  Light ; 
The  Lamp  that  can  illuminate  the  grave.'  " 

When  Sir  Rolfe  reached  Tasmer  again,  he 
found  that  Sara  and  his  little  granddaughter 
Patricia  had  arrived  during  his  absence.  They 
were  not  unexpected.  He  was  quite  aware  that 
the  tone  of  his  last  letter  to  Sara  would  make 
her  understand  that  his  days  were  numbered. 
Her  arrival  was  a  great  comfort,  and  her  tender 
care  of  him  probably  prolonged  his  life.  He 
was  also  greatly  attached  to  Patricia.  In  the 
gloaming  he  generally  asked  for  her,  and  the 
child  expected  and  liked  the  visit.  In  her  white 
night-dress  she  was  laid  in  his  arms,  and  he 
crooned  softly  to  her,  half-talking  and  half-sing 
ing  until  the  little  maid  was  fast  asleep.  And 


At  the  Last — Peace.  349 

often,  when  Sara  came  for  the  child,  she 
found  the  baby  hands  clasping  the  Beads  of 
Tasiner,  and  the  dying-  grandfather  praying 
above  them. 

He  seemed  to  tarry  on  earth  only  to  see  his 
son.  But  Donald  was  in  a  position  where 
obedience  to  orders  was  imperative;  and  there 
was  some  necessary  delay  in  procuring  the 
authority  which  gave  him  freedom  to  return  to 
Tasmer.  But  he  came  at  last.  Sir  Rolfe  heard 
Sara's  voice  in  joyous  modulations,  and  he  knew 
what  it  meant.  She  had  been  walking  in  the  fir- 
wood,  and  had  there  met  her  brother. 

The  meeting  between  father  and  son  was 
solemnly  affectionate  ;  and  these  few  last  days 
united  them  with  an  indissoluble  bond.  There 
was  now  perfect  confidence  between  them. 
They  spoke  of  Roberta ;  and  Donald  received 
his  father's  full  approval  of  his  choice.  He 
made  no  allusion  to  the  years  which  had  been 
darkened  by  opposition  and  exile.  A  sweet 
restraint  forbade  all  reproach.  He  apprehended 


350  At  the  Last — Peace. 

that  his  father  had  also  suffered  disappointment 
and  loneliness.  Both  had  forgiven.  At  the  last 
there  was  a  great  love  and  a  great  peace. 

One  night,  just  at  sunset,  he  spoke  to  Donald 
about  the  "  clearance."  It  was  the  only  time  he 
named  it.  His  eyes  filled  with  their  last  tears  as 
he  said : 

"  It  was  a  mistake  ;  it  was  a  great  wrong  ;  it 
was  a  great  failure,  Donald.  I  gave  fifty  pounds 
to  assist  in  sending  my  people  from  me.  I 
would  give  fifty  thousand  pounds  to  see  them 
on  Tasmer  braes  again." 

"  If  ever  I  have  the  power  I  will  bring  them 
back,  father." 

"  You  promise?" 

"  Solemnly !" 

"  For  the  peace  of  my  soul,  do  it." 

Then  he  sent  Donald  away  and  asked  for 
Patricia.  The  child  was  asleep  in  his  arms 
when  Sara  came,  half  an  hour  afterward,  for 
her.  Father  and  daughter  smiled  in  each  other's 
face,  as  the  babe  was  lifted  from  the  old  arms ; 


At  the  Last — Peace.  351 

for,  to  a  lonely  father,  a  daughter  is  very  dear, 
and  Sara  sat  close  to  Sir  Rolfe's  heart.  It  was 
their  last  "  good-night."  It  was  their  parting 
smile. 

An  hour  afterward  Father  Matthew  entered 
the  room.  As  the  baron  was  absent,  he  sup 
posed  him  to  be  engaged  in  the  oratory,  and  he 
sat  down  to  wait.  But  after  a  little  while  he 
became  sensible  of  that  strange  silence  which 
accompanies  death.  He  stood  up  and  listened 
intently.  There  was  no  movement.  There  was 
no  echo  of  sigh  or  prayer.  He  pushed  aside  the 
door  very  gently.  Sir  Rolfe  lay  upon  his  face, 
at  the  foot  of  the  great  white  crucifix,  with  the 
ivory  beads  in  his  hand.  His  cold  fingers 
marked  the  last  "  Our  Father  "  which  his  lips 
had  said. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  SECRET  OF  THE  BEADS. 

"  For  modes  of  Faith,  let  graceless  zealots  fight ; 
He  can't  be  wrong  whose  life  is  in  the  right." 

So,  Sir  Rolfe  died,  and  so,  in  his  last  years,  he 
would  have  desired  to  go.  Yet  Donald  remem 
bered  how  once,  when  he  was  a  lad,  he  had  heard 
his  father  wish  to  die  as  a  soldier — "  with  tumult, 
with  shouting,  and  with  the  sound  of  the  trum 
pet."  But  who  has  the  oracle  of  his  death  ? 
Only  God  knows  the  place  and  the  manner  in 
which  a  soul  shall  meet  its  latest  enemy. 

They  had  all  loved  him  dearly.  He  had  true 
friendship,  and,  in  the  main,  affectionate 
obedience;  yet,  before  the  majesty  of  death,  each 
living  soul  of  his  household  bowed  itself  humbly, 
and  acknowledged :  "  I  have  done  too  little." 


The  Secret  of  the  Beads.  353 

In  the  long-  past  centuries  when  it  was  unsafe 
to  let  their  neighbors  know  that  the  head  of  the 
clan  was  dead,  the  Torquils  had  begun  to  bury 
their  dead  at  midnight.  For  unnumbered  gen 
erations  it  had  been  the  custom,  and  Sir  Rolfe 
had  expressed  a  wish  to  have  it  conformed  to  in 
his  own  case.  It  was  then  necessary  to  keep  the 
dead  for  many  days.  Friends  were  to  notify,  and 
facilities  were  few  and  slow.  It  was  not  until 
midnight  of  the  eighth  day  after  his  death  that 
Sir  Rolfe  was  laid  among  his  forefathers.  Dur 
ing  these  eight  days,  he  lay  in  the  room  which 
he  had  mostly  occupied.  The  August  sun  fell 
brightly  upon  his  worn,  white  face;  the  fresh 
winds  from  the  ocean  blew  over  it.  How  tran 
quil,  how  distant,  how  grandly,  terribly  differ 
ent  he  was !  But  his  lips  kept,  until  the  last 
moment,  the  faint,  glad  smile  of  one  who  had 
died  dreaming  of  heaven. 

The  burial  night  was  still  and  warm.  There 
was  no  moon,  and  at  midnight  every  fisher  and 
shepherd  haying  the  least  claim  to  a  drop  of  the 


354  The  Secret  of  the  Beads. 

Torquil  blood  came  up  to  Tasmer.  Each 
carried  a  blazing  torch ;  and  in  this  fitful  light 
they  carried  Baron  Rolfe  to  his  resting-place  in 
Torquil  church-yard.  All  the  midnight  spaces 
were  filled  with  the  heavenly,  peaceful  echoes  of 
the  burial  service  recited  in  a  solemnly  trium 
phant  voice  by  Father  Matthew.  When  it  was 
finished,  every  man  extinguished  his  torch  at  the 
grave-side,  and,  with  a  silent  lifting  of  their 
bonnets  in  a  last  "  farewell "  to  the  dead  chief, 
they  scattered, 

Sara  was  weeping  on  her  husband's  arm. 
Donald  looked  down  into  the  grave  with  tear 
less  eyes,  but  his  heart  shuddered  constantly  as 
he  watched  torch  after  torch  extinguished  in  the 
open,  narrow  house,  which  was  soon  to  be 
closed  forever.  At  length  the  light  was  nearly 
gone ;  he  was  conscious  that  only  one  torch 
remained.  Some  one  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
grave  held  it.  He  looked  up,  and  saw  it  was  in 
the  hand  of  Balfour.  Roberta  stood  by  his  side. 


The  Secret  of  the  Beads.  355 

It  was  the  first  glimpse  of  her  dear  face  he  had 
had  for  years. 

Their  eyes  met  in  one  long,  loving,  sorrowful 
gaze ;  involuntarily  Donald  stretched  out  his 
hand  ;  involuntarily  Roberta  touched  it.  They 
met — they  clasped  above  the  grave — above  the 
closed  coffin  of  the  kind  old  knight  who  had 
pleaded  their  cause  so  well. 

The  act,  simple  and  touching,  and  full  of  a  sad 
significance,  powerfully  affected  Balfour.  He 
took  his  daughter's  hand  and  turned  toward  the 
gate  of  the  inclosure.  As  they  trod  silently  the 
narrow  path,  some  one  spoke,  some  one  touched 
Roberta's  arm  and  stayed  them.  It  was  Sara. 
In  a  voice  trembling  with  sorrow,  she  said : 

"  Mr.  Balfour.  My  brother  has  often  been 
your  guest.  Come  up  to  the  castle  with  us, 
to-night — you  and  Miss  Balfour." 

"  We  cannot." 

He  spoke  with  difficulty,  and  with  a  decision 
that  seemed  unkind,  but  which  was  really  the 
result  of  a  tumult  of  feeling  he  was  trying  to 


356  The  Secret  of  the  Beads. 

control.  Sara  and  Mr.  Maclane  urged  him  a 
little,  and,  during  the  passing  conversation, 
Donald  took  Roberta's  hand.  Before  her 
father — before  his  sister  and  his  friends — with 
the  priest  standing  near,  he  lifted  her  face 
and  solemnly  kissed  it  there.  It  was  a  new 
betrothal.  It  was  a  promise  to  which  he  called 
as  witnesses  the  dead  and  the  living  of  his  house. 
It  was  a  fresh  claim  upon  Roberta,  and  Balfour 
was  almost  angry  at  the  advantage  which  it 
gave  to  Donald. 

After  that  kiss  it  was  easy  to  refuse  the  hos 
pitality  of  Tasmer.  In  short,  he  would  not  be 
persuaded  by  any  plea  of  Maclane's  good  feel 
ing,  nor  of  Sara's  courtesy,  nor  of  Donald's  love. 
He  was,  indeed,  a  little  irritated  by  the  discus- 
tion,  and  he  said  not  a  word  to  his  daughter,  as 
they  journeyed  over  the  cheerless  sea,  depressed 
by  the  infinite  solitude  of  the  dark  waters  and 
the  still  greater  solitude  of  hearts,  each  nursing 
its  own  sense  of  wrong. 

On    the    whole,   however,   the    minister   had 


The  Secret  of  the  Beads.  357 

acted  with  dignity  and  prudence.  Donald  and 
Reberta,  in  that  swift,  unconsidered,  unsanc- 
tioned  reassertion  of  their  love  over  the  grave 
of  the  late  baron,  had  placed  him  in  a  position 
that  did  not  permit  him  dissent  at  the  time  ;  and 
which,  therefore,  assumed  his  approval. 

He  was  not  by  any  means  sure  that  he  could 
approve  their  marriage.  Sir  Rolfe's  plea  had 
touched,  but  it  had  not  convinced  him.  As 
soon  as  he  arrived  at  Ellerloch  he  wrote  to  a 
church  in  Edinburgh,  which  had  long  desired 
his  services,  and  accepted  its  call. 

Roberta  received  the  intelligence  with  a  look 
of  reproach. 

"  Do  you  not  trust  me,  father,  even  yet  ?"  she 
asked. 

"  I  wish  to  take  you  out  of  temptation, 
Roberta." 

"  You  wish  to  take  me  away  from  Donald  ?* 

"  Yes." 

"Why?1* 


358  The  Secret  of  the  Beads. 

"  Is  there  any  reason  to  ask  that  question 
again  ?  I  have  answered  it  to  you  often." 

"  You  have  answered  it  to  me,  father ,  now 
answer  it  to  your  own  heart.  Is  Donald's  faith 
really  the  great  stumbling-block  you  imagine  it 
to  be  ?  Are  you  not  in  some  measure  afraid  of 
what  Aunt  Helen  and  all  my  cousins  will  say  ? 
Of  what  the  ministers  of  your  synod  will  say  ? 
Yea,  of  what  these  poor  villagers  in  Ellerloch 
will  say?  Be  just  to  Donald.  Be  just  to  your- 
self  and  to  me." 

Every  question  was  like  a  sword-thrust  to 
him  ;  but  he  gave  no  sign  of  his  spiritual  wound. 
His  face  was  a  little  sterner  only  as  he  added  : 

"  Before  I  sanction  your  marriage  with  Donald 
Torquil,  I  must  have  the  assurance  of  my  con 
science  that  I  am  doing  right." 

"  Father,  for  nearly  five  years  you  have  been 
seeking  this  assurance.  If  I  was  really  doing 
wrong,  would  not  the  sin  have  been  clear  to  you 
long  before  this  ?  When  I  really  disobeyed  you 
— when  I  really  deceived  you — when  I  really 


The  Secret  of  the  Beads.  359 

sinned  against  your  love  and  confidence,  was 
there  any  need  of  this  search  ?  You — and  I  also 
— had  a  consciousness  of  it,  swift  and  sure.  We 
had  no  need  to  argue  or  to  search  about  it.  I 
broke  the  fifth  command,  and  I  came  very  near 
to  losing  that  long  life  which  is  the  promise  of 
its  observance.  Father,  you  must  not  go  to  all 
sorts  of  theological  books  about  Donald  and  me. 
What  have  synods  and  institutes  and  creeds  to 
do  with  our  love  ?" 

"  You  speak  without  knowledge." 

"  I  speak  as  my  heart  speaks.  I  am  faithful  to 
my  conscience.  I  ask  the  blessing  of  God  upon 
my  love.  Is  there  any  other  or  any  greater 
law  ?" 

"  If  events  stopped  with  ourselves,  if — " 

"  Ah,  then  it  is  as  I  said  !  You  fear  what  this 
person  and  that  person  will  suspect  ?  You  fear 
to  have  your  motives  misunderstood  ?  You 
think  people  will  never  know  how  firmly  you 
have  opposed  my  marriage,  or  if  they  do,  that 
they  will  say  :  '  Minister  Balfour  has  made  his 


360  The  Secret  of  the  Beads. 

daughter  Lady  Torquil  at  last ;  you  see  that 
every  conscience  has  its  price.'  Are  not  these 
things  so,  father  ?" 

"  Roberta,  who  gave  you  liberty  to  probe 
your  father's  conscience?  To  imagine  his 
motives  and  invent  his  difficulties  ?" 

He  left  her  with  these  questions  unanswered, 
and  went  into  his  study  to  hide  the  pain  her 
analysis  had  caused  him. 

Roberta  had  divined  much  that  the  minister 
had  always  refused  to  be  separately  conscious 
of.  There  are  in  every  soul  some  dark  corners 
full  of  unacknowledged,  underlying  motives. 
To  have  them  dragged  into  the  light  of  con- 
science  and  the  light  of  discussion  is  not  a  pleas- 
ant  experience.  Balfour  was  at  first  exceed 
ingly  irritated  by  it.  But  above  every  other 
thing,  the  man  was  a  just  man.  He  was  even 
more  severe  with  his  own  recognized  faults  than 
he  was  with  those  of  any  other  person.  He  was 
compelled  by  the  integrity  of  his  nature  to  ans 
wer  Roberta's  questions  to  himself;  and  it  was 


The  Secret  of  the  Beads.  361 

with  humiliation  he  admitted  that  there  was 
much  truth  in  their  interrogatory. 

After  all,  Roberta  and  Donald  were  now 
answerable  to  God.  He  might  counsel,  but 
their  souls  were  of  age,  and  amenable  to  God's 
reward  or  punishment.  Frequently  he  had 
spoken  bitterly  of  the  priests  of  the  Romish 
Church  assuming  the  charge  of  souls,  and 
requiring  nothing  from  their  people  but  implicit 
obedience  to  the  commands  of  the  Church.  He 
had  said :  "  Souls  are  to  be  judged  individually ; 
they  must  be  permitted  individual  judgment." 
This  very  thing  he  had  been  denying  to  his 
child  with  a  persistent  stubbornness.  The  fact 
was  suddenly  clear  to  him. 

"  I  have  been  wrong !"  And  he  made  the 
acknowledgment  with  a  slow,  distinct  emphasis, 
staying  his  walk  up  and  down  his  study  floor  to 
utter  the  words.  "  I  have  been  jealous  of  my 
authority,  spiritual  and  temporal.  I  have  feared 
the  opinions  of  my  sister,  and  of  my  nephews 
and  nieces,  of  my  fellows  in  the  ministry,  »»*  *U 


362  The  Secret  of  the  Beads. 

and  sundry  who  know  me.  I  have  called  it 
*  the  fear  of  God  ;'  it  has  been  very  much  the 
fear  of  man.  Mercifully,  both  repentance  and 
works  meet  for  repentance  are  yet  possible. 
Now  I  will  leave  Donald  and  Roberta  to  the 
commands  ol  their  own  consciences;  and  if  I 
have  not  the  authority,  well,  then,  neither  have 
I  the  responsibility."  He  made  the  surrender 
freely,  without  anger,  but  he  permitted  himself 
some  compensating  comfort  in  the  thought  that 
Donald  could  not  marry  for  a  year  after  his 
father's  death,  and  that  for  so  long  yet  his  child 
would  be  under  his  own  influence.  "  And 
as  to  what  may  happen  in  a  year,  who  can 
tell?" 

The  last  thought  was  not  a  kind  one  in  its 
essence,  but  he  put  it  away  without  any  indul 
gence  of  it.  And  though  he  did  not  enter  into  a 
formal  renunciation  of  his  past  feelings,  or 
express  in  so  many  words  the  change  which  had 
taken  place — not  in  his  opinions,  but  in  the 
application  of  his  opinions — Donald  and  Roberta 


The  Secret  of  the  Beads.  363; 

understood  that  he  had  accepted  the  fact  of 
their  marriage,  and  was  inclined  to  hope  they 
were  at  least  justified  in  their  own  consciences. 
Neither  expected  more  than  this.  Balfour's 
nature  was  of  the  quality  of  his  country's  gran 
ite.  When  young,  he  had  been  hewn  with  hard 
tools  into  a  certain  form ;  a  grand,  massive 
form,  that  would  not,  perhaps,  be  improved  by 
chipping  off  a  corner  here  and  there. 

The  move  to  Edinburgh  was  now  fully  deter 
mined  on,  and  Balfour  took  a  sudden  dislike  to 
the  lonely,  misty  village  in  which  he  had  spent 
so  many  happy  and  sorrowful  days.  Every  one 
has  experienced  these  rapid  changes  of  feeling 
toward  places,  houses,  people,  certain  kinds  of 
work,  certain  opinions.  The  soul  which  has 
been  unconsciously  growing,  becomes  in  a  night, 
as  it  were,  ripe  for  change — for  a  wider  arena,  a 
keener  life — it  may  be,  a  sharper  sorrow — just 
as  a  sudden  frost  will  give  sudden  ripeness  to 
the  grain. 

He  went  to  Edinburgh  and  took  a  house  befit- 


364  The  Secret  of  the  Beads. 

ting  the  position  his  new  church  gave  him. 
Then  he  recognized  that  he  had  long  been  fam 
ishing  for  books,  and  he  satisfied  his  longing 
with  an  extravagant  generosity.  He  was  impa 
tient  to  complete  his  change  of  life.  He 
appeared  to  be  suddenly  younger,  more  impos 
ing  in  appearance,  quicker  in  his  movements  ;  he 
had  cast  the  past  behind,  he  was  turning  to  the 
future,  strong  with  the  lessons  the  past  had 
taught  him. 

The  move  was  propitious  to  the  lovers.  Dur 
ing  the  winter  months  it  was  almost  impossible 
to  travel  between  Ellerloch  and  Tasmer,  but  com 
munication  with  Edinburgh  was  comparatively 
easy  and  quick.  Indeed,  Donald  no  sooner 
heard  of  the  minister's  intention,  than  he  began 
to  contemplate  spending  the  winter  in  the  capi 
tal,  in  the  constant  society  of  Roberta.  The 
great  drawback  to  this  plan  was  the  want  of 
ready  money.  He  had  come  to  his  inheritance, 
and  found  himself  poor,  and  soon  he  discovered 


The  Secret  of  the  Beads.  365 

that  the  estate  was  in  the  hands  of  authorized 
robbers. 

The  first  tenet  of  service  is  to  serve  itself,  and 
the  servants  of  Tasmer  had  been  exceedingly 
faithful  to  their  own  interests.  Everything  had 
been  favorable  to  their  dishonesty.  For  a  long 
time  the  late  baron  had  neither  had  the  power 
nor  the  inclination  to  investigate  his  affairs. 
They  were  purposely  made  complex  and  fatigu 
ing,  and,  as  his  wants  were  small,  he  was  per 
mitted  a  sufficient  sum  of  money  to  satisfy  them 
— a  wise  generosity  on  the  part  of  the  iactor  and 
the  head  shepherd  and  game-keeper,  as  it  pre 
vented  all  inquiries  and  explanations.  Donald's 
absence  made  their  system  of  spoliation  easy, 
for  Father  Contach  thought  only  of  the  baron's 
spiritual  welfare,  and  Maclane  seldom  came  to 
Tasmer,  and  could  hardly  when  there  discuss 
with  his  father-in-law  the  income  of  his  estate. 

But  Donald  was  soon  suspicious  of  the  truth, 
and  it  did  not  take  him  long  to  understand  the 
shameful  schemes  which  had  puzzled  the  sick 


366  The  Secret  <*/  the  Beads. 

and  weary  Sir  Rolfe ;  and  as  Donald  had  no 
toleration  for  theft,  the  unfaithful  servants  were 
quickly  placed  within  the  discipline  of  the  law. 
Financially,  however,  Donald  derived  no  satis 
faction  from  this  movement ;  the  men  were 
Celts,  selfish  and  greedy,  and  fully  prepared  to 
keep  a  tight  grip  upon  their  stolen  property. 

It  was  in  this  total  want  of  faithful  service,  in 
this  cruel  realization  that  honor  and  honesty  are 
not  to  be  hired  out,  that  Donald  remembered  with 
tears  and  longing  the  men  and  women  who 
had  been  sent  away  to  make  room  for  these 
clever,  unscrupulous  managers.  Oh,  for  the 
trusty  Fergus  once  more  in  the  castle  !  Oh,  for 
the  trusty  Torquils  on  the  fells  with  the  sheep, 
and  on  the  heather  with  the  game  !  They  might 
\  be  slow,  but  they  were  the  souls  of  piety  and 
fidelity. 

Under  the  new  order  of  things  there  had  been 
a  gradual  influx  of  strangers  from  the  coast  of 
Ireland.  They  were  pushing  and  energetic ; 
they  had  made  Torquil  a  fine  lobster  fishing 


The  Secret  of  the  Beads.  367 

station,  but  they  offended  Donald  wherever  he 
saw  them — offended  him,  though  they  bowed 
down  to  him  with  the  most  cringing  humility, 
and  had  for  his  ears  only  the  words  of  flattery 
and  compliment.  For  they  had  possession  of 
the  best  cottages  and  the  best  boats  and  the  best 
fishing-grounds,  and  the  native  race  had  fallen 
back  as  they  encroached. 

Donald  regarded  these  things  with  a  passion 
ate  regret,  and  Roberta  shared  all  his  anger  and 
all  his  longings.  They  sat  hours  over  Donald's 
plans  and  estimates,  considering  the  yield  of  the 
game  and  the  land  and  the  wool,  and  calculating 
how  much  yearly  could  be  saved  toward  bring 
ing  home  the  Torquils.  For,  from  the  very 
hour  ot  his  succession,  this  hope  and  end  had 
been  in  the  heart  of  the  new  master  of  Tasmer. 

Both  were,  however,  aware  that  little  could 
be  done  until  after  their  marriage.  As  long  as 
Roberta  was  in  Ellerloch,  the  Sea  Bird  was 
traveling  between  Tasmer  and  Ellerloch. 
When  Roberta  removed  to  Edinburgh,  Donald 


368  The  Secret  of  the  Beads. 

found  himself  unable  to  do  anything  without 
consulting  her.  And  neither  of  them  thought 
it  possible  to  shorten  the  term  of  mourning  for 
Sir  Rolfe.  They  felt  it  imperative  to  give  all 
the  ceremonious  respect  to  his  memory,  which 
his  relationship  and  his  position  demanded  of 
them  in  the  public  mind. 

But  Donald  had  many  a  weary  hour.  He 
had  been  compelled  to  call  in  the  help  of  lawyers 
and  accountants,  and  they  were  daily  making  his 
great  losses  more  and  more  clear  to  him.  The 
new  servants  resented  the  unaccustomed  watch 
over  them,  and  gave  little  satisfaction,  and  his 
military  training  was  not,  perhaps,  the  best 
preparation  for  the  circumstances  in  which  he 
was  placed.  He  himself  was  prompt  and  faith 
ful  in  all  his  duties;  and  he  had  been  obedient 
to  his  superiors  when  his  service  demanded  it. 
He  expected  from  others  the  excellencies  which 
they  did  not  possess  inherently,  and  which  had 
not  been  cultivated  in  them. 

These  seem  to  be  prosaic  and  very  ordinary 


The  Secret  of  the  Beads.  369 

trials,  but  it  is  precisely  such  trials  which  are 
hardest  to  bear.  When  a  man  fights  with  his 
equal,  his  spirits  rise  to  the  encounter ;  whether 
he  conquer  or  fail,  he  feels  no  degradation. 
But  a  daily,  hourly  fight  with  inferiors  is  a  dif 
ferent  thing.  Intellect  must  stoop  to  match 
itself  with  vulgar  cunning ;  honor  and  truth 
have  to  meet  covert  enmity  and  fathomless 
deception.  Such  an  ignoble  fight  greatly 
depresses  a  noble  soul — the  weapons  its  enemy 
uses  are  not  in  its  armory ;  it  has  to  study  the 
tactics  of  fear,  hatred  and  envy,  in  order  to 
defeat  them.  Donald  would  far  rather  have 
ridden  in  the  van  of  an  invading  army,  than 
been  compelled  to  buckle  down  to  such  a  worry 
ing  defense  of  his  own  rights  and  such  an  irritat 
ing  prosecution  of  the  wrong-doing  of  others. 

Upon  Christmas  Eve  he  was  suffering  from  an 
accumulation  of  annoyances,  and  Angus  had 
unwittingly  added  the  last  drop  to  the  cup  of 
petty  injustice  and  mortification  mingled  for 
him. 


37°  The  Secret  of  the  Beads. 

"  Here  is  a  gold  sovereign  for  you,  Angus,  and 
I  hope  you  will  have  a  very  happy  Christmas 
feast,"  he  said. 

"  It  iss  ferry  gladt  I  am  of  the  sovereign,  sir. 
I  wass  safing  aal  my  money  to  pring  home  again 
my  grandtfather  and  my  grandtm  other.  A  ferry 
poor  time  they  are  hafing,  sir,  and  it  iss  old  they 
are :  and  thinking,  mirover,  of  the  graves  of  Tor- 
quil.  They  will  not  pe  resting  in  any  other 
place  whateffer,  sir." 

Donald  did  not  answer.  A  great  wave  of  feel 
ing — partly  anger — stirred  him.  Then  he 
remembered  the  holy  festival  close  at  hand,  and 
was  ashamed  and  sorry.  The  bell  was  ringing 
in  the  little  church,  and  he  went  down  there  and 
offered  the  sacrifice  of  thanksgiving.  When  he 
returned  home  there  was  a  large  fire  of  blazing 
logs  on  the  hearth,  and  he  sat  down  before  it  and 
began  to  think  on  many  things. 

Presently,  when  his  heart  was  very  tender — 
being  full  of  gratitude  for  Roberta's  love,  and 
full  of  hope  in  that  he  trusted  to  bring  back 


The  Secret  of  the  Beads.  371 

again  his  banished  kin — he  went  into  the  oratory 
and  lifted  the  ivory  Beads  of  Tasmer.  He 
thought  of  the  men  and  the  women  whose  claim 
upon  them  had  once  been  as  strong  as  his  own, 
and  the  tremendous  solidarity  of  the  two  worlds 
— of  the  dead  and  the  living — was  present  to  his 
conception  in  a  strikingly  personal  manner. 
The  Communion  of  Saints  !  The  indivisibility 
of  the  Church  militant  and  the  Church  tri 
umphant!  Oh,  the  unspeakable  riches  of  that 
grace  which  made  him  partaker,  even  in  this  life, 
of  the  hope  and  the  love  of  the  holy  dead ! 

Suddenly  a  few  words  that  Father  Contach 
had  spoken  that  night  to  his  people  came  to  him 
with  wonderful  force : 

"  Take  your  morsel  of  bread  and  put  it  in  the 
Lord's  hand  for  a  blessing,  and  you  shall  eat  and 
be  satisfied.  When  the  tide  comes  in,  it  fills  the 
great  caves  as  easily  as  the  small  sand-ripples. 
Hold  out  both  hands  and  God  will  fill  them. 
And,  if  the  strait  is  a  great  one,  God  has  special 
helps  for  special  occasions." 


372  The  Secret  of  the  Beads. 

How  good  the  promise  of  such  words!  He 
let  it  fill  his  heart  with  gladness,  as  he  knelt 
humbly  before  the  great  crucifix,  standing  white 
and  solemn  in  the  fitful  light  of  the  fire.  Lost  in 
meditation,  he  remained  until  the  sense  of  "  pres 
ence  "  was  sweetly  intense.  Then  he  bowed  his 
whole  soul  to  this  majesty  of  the  Unseen ;  for  his 
faith  was  too  sincere  to  refuse  the  consolation 
of  the  mysterious. 

"  I  have  been  visited,"  he  said,  joyfully,  and 
his  fingers  touched  the  large  bead  for  the  first 
"  Our  Father." 

It  parted  between  his  fingers  as  he  held  it. 
His  very  soul  shuddered  as  he  felt  the  separa 
tion,  but  he  completed  the  prayer,  and  then  rose 
and  looked  at  the  broken  bead.  As  he  did  so  his 
eyes  grew  fixed  and  large,  a  bright  color  spread 
over  his  face,  and  after  a  few  moments'  intent 
gaze,  he  clasped  his  hands  in  adoration  of 
wonder  and  delight. 

For  the    broken    bead    revealed    the  secret 


The  Secret  of  the  Beads.  373 

which  the  Tasmer  Rosary  had  faithfully  jkept 
for  seven  hundred  years.  The  beads  were  all 
composed  of  two  parts,  so  exquisitely  fitting 
that  only  oriental  patience  and  ingenuity  could 
have  fashioned  them.  And  the  ivory  was  but 
the  shell.  In  the  interior  of  each  bead  there 
was  an  uncut  gem  of  great  value. 

As  each  bead  yielded  its  treasure  to  Donald's 
efforts,  his  soul  was  more  and  more  joyful.  He 
foresaw  now  the  fulfillment  of  all  his  hopes :  the 
home-bringing  of  the  Torquils  from  exile;  the 
building  of  new  cottages  for  them ;  the  real 
improvement  of  the  estate ;  Roberta's  dreams  of 
a  school  for  the  children,  of  a  hospital  for  th<* 
sick,  of  a  home  for  the  homeless ;  all  the  welW 
of  comfort  that  were  to  be  the  gift  of  the  Beads 
of  Tasmer. 

At  last  they  lay  before  him — sixty-three 
jewels — a  glittering  company  of  rubies  and 
diamonds.  And  he  stood  up  before  God  and 
thanked  Him  joyfully  because  that  from  among 
all  the  sons  of  his  race  he  had  been  chosen  to 


374  The  Secret  of  the  Beads. 

dispense  the  gift  of  Knight  Murdo's  Rosary. 
And  he  opened  the  small  sandal-wood  box  which 
had  kept  so  long  the  prophecy  of  "  The  Beads," 
and  read  aloud  with  the  glad  confidence  of  faith 
turned  into  sight : 

"  Tellen  these  trewe  wordse  : 
Whaune  Tasmer's  fortune  shalle  wane  and  faide 
Thaune  aske  of  the  Beads  of  Tasmer  aide." 


CHAPTER  XX. 

BRINGING  HOME  THE  BRIDE. 

"  Hail,  Love  !  the  Death-defyer  !  age  to  age 

Linking  with  flowers  in  the  still  heart  of  man  ; 
Dream  to  the  Bard  and  marvel  to  the  Sage ! 
Glory  and  mystery  since  the  world  began." 

"  With  her  womanly  beauty  and  queenly  calm 
She  steals  to  my  heart  with  a  blessing  of  balm ; 
And  O,  but  the  wine  of  Love  sparkles  with  foam ! 
When  I  come  home,  when  J  come  home, 

Home,  home,  when  I  come  home  !" 

Early  in  the  morning  he  started  for  Edinburg1, 
with  the  gems  next  his  heart.  He  went  straight 
to  Roberta.  She  heard  his  voice  and  step,  and 
came  hastily  to  meet  him.  With  hands 
extended,  she  stopped  *at  the  sight  of  his  face. 
The  glory  of  some  strange,  great  blessing  was 


376          Bringing  Home  the  Bride. 

on  it.  Donald  took  her  in  his  arms.  He  could 
not  speak,  but  she  knew  by  his  smile,  by  his 
radiant  presence,  by  the  joyful  confidence  of  his 
manner,  that  some  wonderful  thing  had  come  to 
him. 

They  went  together  to  the  parlor.  Donald 
took  the  precious  packet  from  his  breast,  and 
spread  out  the  jewels  before  her.  They  were 
too  excited  for  much  speech.  The  splendor  and 
the  wonder  of  the  gift !  The  sudden  granting  of 
all  their  desires!  What  words  could  express 
their  amazement  and  their  gratitude 

"You  will  go  for  the  Torquils  now,  Donald?" 

"  At  once,  dearest." 

"They  are  to  have  new  and  far  better  cot 
tages  ?" 

"  We  will  plan  them  together.  They  shall  be 
as  you  desire." 

"  And  the  school,  and  the — " 

"  You  shall  make  all  your  dreams  come  true." 

"  I  wish  they  knew  about  it.  Write  at  once, 
Donald." 


Bringing  Home  the  Bride.          377 

"  No ;  I  will  go  at  once.  They  would  not 
comprehend  a  letter." 

"  Then  you  will  go  very  soon  ?" 

"  As  soon  as  I  have  turned  the  jewels  into 
gold,  and  set  builders  to  work  on  the  homes  for 
them.  All  the  cottages  pulled  down  at  Easter- 
Torquil  shall  be  rebuilt.  Oh,  I  hope  old  Hector 
is  alive,  to  lead  the  people  back  again." 

"  Let  us  tell  my  father." 

The  minister  was  in  his  study.  He  had  been 
filling  his  soul  with  the  pathetic  importunity  of 
Baxter  and  the  Platonic  loftiness  of  Howe  ;  and 
when  Roberta  said  :  "  Donald  has  found  sixty, 
three  rubies  and  diamonds  in  the  Beads  of  Tas* 
mer,  and  he  is  going  to  bring  home  all  the  Tor. 
quils  from  America,  and  build  them  new  houses 
and  a  school,  and  make  them  happy  and  pros, 
perous  forever,"  he  looked  up  at  her  with  a 
faint  smile,  and  answered  : 

"  All  this  would  never  be  said,  except  in  a 
dream,  Roberta." 


378          Bringing  Home  the  Bride. 

"  It  is  true  !  It  is  true !  Come  down-stairs 
and  see." 

Then  Balfour  went  with  his  daughter,  and  his 
amazement  was  quickly  amenable  to  reason. 
Humanity  understands  seeing  better  than 
believing. 

Preparatory  arrangements  were  quickly  made, 
and  Donald  landed  at  Quebec  early  in  February, 
and  with  all  possible  speed  reached  the  small 
Scotch  settlement  sixty  miles  inward.  The 
weather  was  bitterly  cold,  the  country  lonely 
and  depressing.  Only  after  three  days'  hard 
riding  did  he  come  in  sight  of  the  squalid  log 
huts  which  bore  the  name  of  New  Tasmer. 

He  was  alone  and  on  horseback,  and  it  was 
the  afternoon.  There  was  a  small  inn  at  the 
entrance  of  the  village,  and  his  heart  smote  him 
when  he  saw  the  name  "  Donald  Torquil  "  above 
the  door.  Namesake  and  kin,  and  yet  so  far 
from  home — so  far  away  from  home ! 

A  man  whom  he  did  not  recognize  took  his 
horse,  and  pointed  out  to  him  the  public  door. 


Bringing  Home  the  Bride.          379 

"  Christine  Torquil  iss  inside,  sir,  and  she  will 
pe  gifing  you  a  welcome,  sir." 

He  went  into  the  cabin,  and  stood  for  a 
moment  looking  at  Christine.  She  was  card 
ing  wool,  and  rocking  the  cradle  of  her  babe 
with  her  foot.  Ere  he  could  speak,  she  began 
to  sing.  The  soft,  sibilant  Gaelic  had  an  inex 
pressibly  mournful  sound  ;  the  words  were  full 
of  tears.  Donald's  eyes  filled  as  their  meaning 
smote  his  heart : 

"  From  the  lone  shieling  of  the  misty  island 
Mountains  divide  us,  and  the  waste  of  seas ; 
Yet  still  the  blood  is  strong,  the  heart  is  Highland 
And  we  in  dreams  behold  the  Hebrides. 
Fair  these  broad  meads,  these  hoary  woods  are  grand  ; 
But  we  are  exiles  from  our  native  land  !" 

"  Christine  !  Christine  !  I  am  come  to  take 
you  back  again !" 

She  rose,  white  and  trembling,  and  looked  at 
the  young  man.  He  had  been  well  known  to 
her  in  the  old  days,  and  she  had  not  forgotten 
him.  She  let  her  wool  and  cards  fall  to  the 


380          Bringing  Home  the  Bride. 

ground;  she  took  his  hands  and  kissed  them  ; 
she  murmured,  amid  broken  sobs,  passionate 
welcomes  and  loving  ejaculations.  Donald 
answered  her  in  Gaelic.  The  sound  of  the  dear 
words  on  his  tongue  completed  her  joy.  She 
made  him  sit  down  by  the  fire,  and  began  to 
prepare  him  food  and  a  warm  drink. 

"  It  iss  ferry  poor  I  am,  Sir  Tonalt.  My  man 
iss  gone  away  from  me  ;  'tis  three  months  since 
he  went  away." 

"  And  where  has  he  gone,  Christine  ?" 
"  He  iss  gone  from  hence  to  death  ;  in  the 
Friday  to  holy  heaven.  O  !  hon  a  ric  /  O  !  hon 
a  rit  !  My  prave  Tonalt  iss  gone  away  !  It  iss 
no  more  he  will  pe  seeing  the  purple  coasts  of 
Skye  and  Rona,  nor  the  plue  peaks  of  Harriss 
peyont  the  gray  Minch." 

"  Is  old  Hector  Torquil  still  alive,  Christine  ?" 
"  He  iss  ferry  well.     His  son  Hugh  iss  gone 
away  aalso ;    but  he  iss  not  seeing  ferry  much 
now." 


Bringing  Home  the  Bride.          381 

"  Send  to  every  cabin  and  tell  the  people  to  be 
at  Hector  Torquil's  this  night  at  seven  o'clock." 

Quickly  flew  the  word  from  home  to  home. 

"  The  Torquil  hass  come;  he  hass  come  him- 
self !  We  are  going  pack  home,  mirover !" 

To  Hector,  Donald  carried  the  news  of  his 
own  arrival.  The  old  soldier  had  aged  much. 
He  was  sitting  very  quiet,  his  hands  leaning  on 
his  staff,  his  head  bowed  above  them,  his  eyes 
closed.  Dreams  of  his  stirring  youth  were  fill 
ing  the  silent  chambers  of  his  brain.  Behind  his 
closed  eyes  he  was  seeing  pictures  of  his  native 
hills ;  mountains  and  mountains  of  amethyst, 
lights  and  shadows  coming  and  going  all  day 
over  them  ;  vales  of  emeralds  here  and  there,  and 
leaping  streams  of  silver,  at  sunrise  turning  to 
rivers  of  gold.  Oh,  for  the  laughter  and  the 
storm  of  the  ocean  !  Oh,  for  the  corries  misty 
with  blue-bells!  Oh,  for  the  little  brown  huts 
nestling  in  the  shadow  of  the  mountains,  and  the 
plaided  human  creatures,  with  collie  dogs  and 
flocks  of  sheep  moving  to  and  fro  among  them! 


382          Bringing  Home  the  Bride. 

It  was  from   such   a   dream    Donald   awakened 
him. 

"  //  iss  the  TorquilT  he  cried.  "  Bless  God,  it 
is  the  voice  of  the  Torquil !"  And  when  Donald 
said,  joyfully:  "Hector!  Hector  Torquil !" 
the  old  man  rose  to  his  feet,  erect  and  alert,  as 
if  he  had  been  at  roll-call,  and  answered  with  a 
glad  promptness : 

"  Here,  here,  Sir  Tonalt !  " 

And  what  a  congregation  gathered  that  night 
in  Hector's  cabin  !  What  joy  to  see  again  the 
head  of  their  sept !  What  unspeakable  joy  to 
hear  him  say  : 

"  Come  back  home.  Come,  all  of  you.  There 
is  enough  for  every  Torquil  on  Torquil's  land." 

Donald  stood   in   the  midst  of  the   room,  and 

the  men  were  gathered  bare-headed  around  him. 

Most  of  them  were  of  lofty  stature,  but   Donald 

was  taller  than  any  ;  and  \htglengary  on  his  head, 

i  with  the  eagle's  feather  in  front,  added  a   noble, 

,  native  grace  to  his   beautiful   form.     Suddenly, 

I  he  lifted  the  cap  from  his  bright,  curling  hair, 


Bringing  Home  the  Bride.  383 

and,  standing  thus,  with  a  voice  tuned  to  glad 
and  sweet  solemnity,  he  told  them  there  the  his 
tory  of  the  Beads  of  Tasmer,  and  of  the  miracu 
lous  happiness  and  prosperity  they  had  brought 
to  the  household  of  the  Torquils.  It  was  a  story 
that  touched  these  simple,  pious  peasants  to  spir 
itual  enthusiasm.  Faith  was  to  them  an  easy 
effort  of  the  mind.  The  more  impossible  a  thing 
was,  the  more  necessity  there  was  for  spiritual 
help  ;  and  spiritual  help  was  the  help  they  most 
of  all  trusted  in.  The  old  Rosary,  the  ancient 
path  of  prayer!  Was  it  not  the  very  way  of  the 
angels  ? 

"  Peace!  Peace  to  Knight  Murdo's  soul !"  said 
old  Hector,  solemnly.  "  Those  peyont  have  not 
forgotten  us.  They  haf  peen  sorry  for  our  sor 
row,  now  they  are  gladt  in  our  joy." 

It  was  not  considered  wise  to  move  at  once. 
All  possessed  some  trifle  of  property  which  they 
could  dispose  of.  A  few  had  cleared  land,  and 
began  to  like  the  independence  of  their  new  life. 


384          Bringing  Home  the  Bride. 

Donald  assisted  such  to  still  further  improve 
their  condition. 

But  the  majority  had  tasted  the  word 
"  home"  in  their  hearts,  and  the  idea  grew 
swiftly  to  a  passionate  longing,  which  nothing 
but  the  misty  headlands  of  the  Minch  and  the 
Hills  of  Ross  could  satisfy.  They  were 
impatient  for  the  spring  and  for  the  ship  which 
Donald  was  to  send  to  Quebec  for  them. 

Rapidly  the  months  flew  by.  It  had  seemed 
at  first  as  if  the  year's  delay  would  be  hard  to 
get  over.  But  time  well-filled  goes  very 
quickly.  After  Donald's  return  there  was  a 
constant  journeying  between  Tasmer  and  Edin- 
burg.  He  had  to  consult  Roberta  about  every 
thing  done.  She  drew  the  plans  of  the  new 
cottages  and  of  the  pretty  school-house,  though 
Father  Contach  and  Minister  Balfour  both  gave 
their  advice  in  the  matter. 

And  there  had  to  be  new  industries  set  on 
toot  for  the  employment  of  the  home-coming 
men.  The  game  and  the  sheep,  the  lobster  and 


Bringing  Home  the  Bride.          385 

the  deep-sea  fishing  were  to  be  arranged  on  a 
basis  profitable  to  all.  The  castle  was  to 
refurnish  throughout.  For  Roberta's  special 
pleasure  a  large  conservatory  was  to  be  built. 
Donald  went  to  sleep  every  night  happily 
wearied  out. 

It  was  in  these  days  he  discovered,  for  the 
first  time,  the  blessedness  of  hours  brim  full  of 
work. 

"  I  will  never  be  idle  again,"  he  said  to  Father 
Contach. 

And  the  Father  pointed  out  the  fact  that  he 
never  could  be  if  he  continued  to  do  his  duty. 
He  would  be  compelled  to  plan,  to  order,  to 
supervise  all  the  works  he  had  laid  out  for  the 
daily  employment  of  his  people. 

"  Fifty  or  sixty  families  will  take  their  bread 
from  your  hand,  Donald,"  he  said  ;  "  you  will  be 
responsible  for  their  well-doing.  You  are  to 
marry  a  wife  and  be  responsible  for  her  happi 
ness.  You  must  live  now  for  the  future  as  well 


386          Bringing  Home  the  Bride. 

as   for  the   present;   for  others  as   well  as  for 
yourself." 

It  was  in  the  early  days  of  autumn  that  Donald 
brought  home  his  bride — those  golden  Septem 
ber  days  when  the  air  is  fine  and  subtle,  and  the 
amber  rays  shine  through  the  shining  branches. 
The  castle  garden  was  full  of  the  splendid 
glories  of  dahlias  and  hollyhocks,  of  the  scents 
of  sweet-brier  and  southernwood,  and  of  all 
kinds  of  nameless  perfumes — emanations  ot  the 
earth,  of  the  trunks  of  trees,  of  the  ripened 
fruit,  of  the  turning  foliage.  Old  ocean  laughed 
with  incalculable  dimples.  The  birds  were 
singing  their  latest  songs  in  the  woods.  From 
the  church-tower  in  the  village  the  bells  sent 
forth  a  grave,  sweet  harmony,  dilating  in  the 
air,  wandering  up  to  the  castle-turrets  and  far 
out  to  sea.  As  the  morning  advanced,  a  soft 
yellow  light  fell  like  a  glorious  veil  over  earth 
and  ocean,  making  the  mountains  more  like 
clouds  at  sunsetting  than  real  things. 

There    had    been    in   Edinburgh   a   solemnly 


Bringing  Home  the  Bride.  387 

quiet,  religious  ceremony,  in  which  Minister 
Balfour  himself  joined  the  hands  ot  his  daughter 
and  Sir  Donald  Torquil.  Only  Sara  and 
Maclane  and  a  few  of  Roberta's  kindred  had 
been  present.  A  very  blissful  service  it  had 
been,  and  Donald  and  Roberta,  for  themselves, 
could  have  desired  no  nobler,  no  more  blessed 
sacrament  of  their  love  than  that  touching 
service  in  the  manse  parlor. 

But  others  had  to  be  taken  into  consideration, 
and  it  was  necessary  for  the  Torquil  to  take  his 
bride  also  by  the  ancient  faith,  in  which  his 
fathers  had  lived  and  died  ;  and  so,  by  its  bless- 
ing,  make  Roberta  indeed  mistress  of  Tasmer. 
In  a  little  gray  church  where  the  old  religion 
had  built  itself  a  shrine,  even  in  the  city  of  John 
Knox,  Father  Contach  was  waiting  for  them. 
With  infinite  love  and  solemnity  he  joined  their 
hands  in  the  irrevocable  tie  of  the  Church.  And 
thus  they  went  forth  to  their  new  life,  with  its 
obligations  bound  to  them  by  holy  prayers,  and 
its  delights  sanctified  by  holy  blessings. 


388          Bringing  Home  the  Bride. 

I  It  had  been  resolved  to  hold  the  bride-feast  in 
Tasmer,  and  to  call  all  the  clan  and  all  the 
neighbors  together  for  this  festival.  Sara  and 
Maclane  took  charge  of  the  preparations  for 
this  home-coming,  and  Nature  crowned  them 
with  the  gift  of  a  few  days  of  heavenly  beauty. 
Early  on  the  morning  of  the  happy  day,  the  ris 
ing  mist  revealed  the  Minch  covered  with  boats, 
all  making  for  Torquil  pier.  They  were  filled 
with  men  in  their  Sabbath  clothing  and  with 
women  in  white  caps,  and  lasses  snooded  with 
ribbons.  For  every  man,  woman  and  child  of 
the  Torquil  blood,  and  all  the  Torquils  who  had 
intermarried  with  the  MacFarlanes  or  the  Mac- 
kenzies,  were  coming  to  Sir  Donald  Torquil's 
bridal  feast. 

\  They  filled  the  cottages  to  overflowing,  and 
found  amusement  enough  in  the  fact  of  their 
rare  meeting  and  in  watching  the  constant 
arrival  of  the  gentry  in  trig  yachts  or  in  fine  car 
riages.  At  ten  in  the  morning  the  bells  rang 
out,  and  Father  Contach  was  seen  in  the  street 


Bringing  Home  the  Bride.          389 

of  the  village,  talking-  to  a  Torquil  from  Cairn- 
clow  or  Bundalloch,  or  listening  to  a  tale  of  joy 
or  sorrow  from  some  girl  whom  he  had,  perhaps, 
christened,  confirmed  and  married. 

When  the  full  glory  of  the  noontide  was  over 
sea  and  land,  Donald's  carriage  was  seen  at  the 
top  of  the  hill,  a  mile  awav.  Then  old  Hector, 
leaning  on  the  arm  of  Father  Contach,  went  and 
stood  at  the  entrance  of  the  village  to  bless  and 
welcome  the  Torquil  and  his  bride.  The  people, 
with  that  mannerly  behaviour  which  belonged 
to  their  temperament  and  education,  ranged 
themselves  along  the  roadside  with  smiling 
faces,  casting  handfuls  of  heather  or  ripe  wheat, 
or  sweet-smelling  broom  in  the  path  of  the 
bride's  carriage.  Their  gentle  blessing  lingered 
in  the  still,  golden  atmosphere,  and  came  to 
Roberta  and  Donald  with  the  perfume  of 
the  flowers  and  the  heavenly  echoes  of  the 
church-bells. 

When  they  reached  the  fir-wood,  ail  sounds 
became  a  softened,  tremulous  murmur  of  glad- 


390          Bringing  Home  the  Bride. 

ness.  Hector  was  in  a  carriage  with  Father 
Contach,  but  the  people  spread  themselves 
belore  and  behind  and  on  each  side  in  the  green 
shades — the  fishers,  feeling  as  L  they  were  m  a 
new  world,  solemnized  by  the  tender,  mystical 
light,  and  gravely  curious  about  the  birds  and 
insects,  of  which  the  sea  had  taught  them  noth 
ing. 

Long  tables  had  been  laid  for  them  in  the  big 
granaries,  and  there  already  Malcolm  Roy's 
magic  violin  was  heard  calling  them  together  in 
those  plaintive  or  delirious  strains  which  not  a 
heart  among  them  could  resist.  As  the  day 
passed  on,  the  sense  of  festival  grew  stronger. 
The  courts  were  full  of  carriages  and  servants. 
Men  known  through  all  the  country-side,  and 
richly  garmented  women,  strolled  among  the 
late  flowers,  or  sauntered  in  the  newly  adorned 
rooms  of  the  castle.  The  tones  of  music,  ot  low 
laughter,  of  rippling  conversation,  and  the  frou 
frou  ot  silken  robes,  intoxicated  the  spirits  like 
wine.  And  Sara  was  everywhere  present,  mil  oi 


Bringing  Home  the  Bride.          391 

joy  and  welcome,  to  both  peers  and  peasants: 
her  dress  of  blue  velvet,  her  shimmering  pearl 
necklace,  her  coronal  of  bright  hair,  her  charm 
ing  manners,  making  her  a  conspicuous  and 
delightful,  hostess. 

At  length  the  magnificent  dining-hall  was 
thrown  open,  and  all  its  splendid  space  was 
thronged  with  guests  of  honor  or  renown.  Then 
Donald  led  in  the  lovely  woman  whom  he  had 
made  Lady  of  Torquil.  A  murmur,  indescriba 
ble  and  irrepressible,  ran  through  the  pleased 
assemblage.  Had  such  a  pearl,  indeed,  come 
out  of  the  fishing  village  of  Ellerloch  ?  For 
Roberta's  girlish  beauty  had  merely  indexed  the 
superb  loveliness  of  her  maturity.  Within  the 
past  year  she  had  improved  marvelously;  for,  in 
love  and  hope  and  joyful  confidence,  beauty 
grows  to  its  perfection. 

She  was  tall  enough  to  be  mate  for  Donald's 
lofty  stature  ;  and  her  fine  countenance,  with  its 
wide,  white  brow  and  shining  eyes  and  glorious 
coloring,  reflected  a  soul  lull  of  tenderness,  intel- 


39 2          Bringing  Home  the  Bride. 

lect  and  generosity,  A  robe  oi  rich  white  satin 
clothed  her.  It  had  borders  of  silver-work,  and 
the  sapphires  ol  Tasmer  gleamed  on  her  white 
throat  and  wrists,  and  clasped  the  supple  silver 
zone  which  marked  her  waist.  Orange-blossoms 
crowned  her  dark  hair  and  lay  among  the  laces 
at  her  bosom.  Every  heart  bowed  down  to  her 
—every  tongue  praised  her. 

When  the  wedding  toast  was  drunk,  the  whole 
people  came  in.  They  stood  around  the  hall  in 
rows  four  deep,  and  when  Father  Contach 
blessed  the  bride-cup  and  lifted  it  toward  heaven, 
five  hundred  cups  were  lifted  with  it,  and  the 
murmur  of  the  "Amen"  was  a  music  that  smote 
each  heart  beyond  the  power  of  speech,  beyond 
all  human  interpretation,  but  such  as  eyes  shin 
ing  through  tears  may  give. 

For  a  few  days,  Tasmer  Castle  held  a  pleasant 
company,  that  gradually  drifted  away,  each  soul 
back  to  its  own  joys  and  sorrows.  At  the  end 
of  a  week,  Donald  and  Roberta  were  quite  alone. 
Their  new  life,  lull  of  noble  plans  and  hopes, 


Bringing  Home  the  Bride.          393 


was  before  them.  They  were  eager  to  realize 
all  that  it  asked  of  them.  They  were  one  soul, 
one  heart  and  one  hand  in  everything.  They 
still  kept  the  dew  of  their  youth  ;  all  its  illusions 
and  enthusiasms ;  all  its  fervor;  of  self-sacrifice ; 
all  its  passionate  wealth  and  strength  of  personal 
affection.  Their  love  had  been  well  tested  by 
suffering  and  disappointment  and  delay.  It  had 
been  crowned  with  a  miraculous  gift  of  riches 
and  happiness.  Like  the  blessed  Shunamite 
woman  of  old,  they  had  the  felicity  she  counted 
of  greater  value  than  royal  favor — they  could 
"dwell  among  their  own  people." 

They  were  sitting  together  one  night,  talking 
softly  over  all  these  things.  The  twilight  deep 
ened,  but  they  called  not  for  lights ;  the  glow  ot 
the  fire  was  sufficient  lor  their  sweetly  solemn 
dreams  and  hopes  of  their  future.  Father  Con- 
tach  entered.  He  blessed  both  and  sat  down  be 
side  them. 

"  Hector  is    dead,"  he  said.     "  He    sent 


394          Bringing  Home  the  Bride. 


back  your  father's  ring,  Sir  Donald,  and  with  it 
his  eternal  love.'' 

Donald  took  the  ring  with  a  murmured  prayer 
and  thoughtfully  placed  it  on  his  finger. 

"  He  went  blessedly,"  continued  the  priest — 
"quite  happy  in  the  thought  that  he  would  sleep 
with  his  lathers  under  the  shadow  of  Torquil 
church.  In  the  last  hour,  he  dictated  to  me  the 
verse  for  his  stone.  I  have  promised  it  shall  be 
placed  above  him." 

"  He  is  worthy  to  be  remembered.  What 
said  he? 

"'Hector  is  going  to  the  assembly  in  heaven  i 
It  was  tn  Easier-Tor  quil  he  ivas  reared  ; 
jn  blessed  lorquii  of  many  crosses  he  first  read  his  tisalms. 
He  jou^ht  a  gooa  fight,  ana  he  goes  to  his  God  ana  hit 

kindrea  ; 
Ey  grace  of  God  and  the  Torquil,  in  Torquil  he  is  buried!  " 

A  silence  full  of  feeling  followed.  Through 
the  purple  curtains  the  large  crucifix  shone  white 
and  peaceful  in  its  solemn  place,  and  after  a  lit 
tle  conversation,  the  father  retired  there.  The 


Bringing  Home  the  Bride.  395 

young  husband  and  his  wife  glanced  at  each 
other.  They  knew  the  holy  man  was  praying, 
and  they  sat  in  communion  with  him.  When 
he  returned  to  their  company,  he  had  the  Beads 
of  Tasmer  in  his  hand — the  large  ivory  beads 
that  had  held  their  happy  fortune. 

"  Children,"  he  said,  "  these  beads  were  not 
only  for  your  prosperity.  Through  God's  bless 
ing  in  your  hearts,  they  have  bi  ought  and  they 
shall  bring  comfort  and  salvation  to  hundreds 
and  thousands  who  will  bear  your  name.  Think 
not  that  their  material  wealth  was  their  great 
treasure,  for  none  shall  ever  lift  them,  with  a 
sincere  faith  in  God  and  in  Christ  Jesu.  and  not 
find  in  such  prayer  aid  and  blessing  irom  the 
Beads  ol  Tasmer." 


THE  END. 


AN  ENEMY  TO  THE  KING 


BY    ROBERT   NEILSON    STEPHENS 

Author  of   "The  Continental  Dragoon,"   "The  Road  to  Pari»»" 
"  Captain  Rarenshaw,"  etc.,  etc. 

Illustrated  by  H.  De  M.  Young 

An    historical    romance     of     the    sixteenth    century, 

describing  the  adventures   of   a   young  French 

nobleman  at  the  Court  of  Henry  III.,  and 

on  the  field  with  Henry  of  Navarre. 

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THE  CONTINENTAL  DRAGOON 


BY    ROBERT   NEILSON    STEPHENS 

Author  of  "  The  Road  to  Paris/'  "  A  Gentleman  Player/'  "Captair 
Ravenshaw,"  etc.,  etc» 

Illustrated  by  H.  C.  Edwards 

A   stirring    romance   of    the    Revolution,    the    scene 

being  laid   in   and    around  the   old   Philipse 

Manor   House,    near  Yonkers. 

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THE  MYSTERY  OF 

MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

BY    ROBERT   NEILSON    STEPHENS 

Author  of  "An  Enemy  to  the  King,"  "  The  Continental  Dragoon" 
4t  Captain  Ravenshaw/'  etc.,  etc. 

Illustrated  by  H.  C.  Edwards 

The  solution  of  it  is   an  ingenious   surprise   such   as 
might    have    been    expected    from    Edgar  Allen 
Poe.       Mr.    Stephens   has   managed   the   de 
tails  of    the  story  with  remarkable  skill. 

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A  GENTLEMAN   PLAYER: 

His  Adventures  on  a  Secret  Mission  for  Queen  Elizabeth 

BY     ROBERT     NEILSON     STEPHENS 

Author  of  "The  Mystery  of  Murray  Davenport"    "The  Road  to 
Paris,"  "The  Continental  Dragoon,"  etc,,  etc. 

Illustrated   by   Frank   T.    Merrill 

"A  Gentleman  Player"  is  a  romance  of  the  Elizabethan  period. 
It  relates  the  story  of  a  young  gentleman  who,  in  the  reign  of 
Elizabeth,  falls  so  low  in  his  fortune  that  he  joins  Shakespeare's 
company  of  players,  and  becomes  a  friend  and  protege  of  the  great 
poet. 

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